


you know i need a little break (to get away for a holiday)

by mansgotalimit



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: M/M, i do not know what happened with this fic, i do not know whats going on in my head
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:15:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25637170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mansgotalimit/pseuds/mansgotalimit
Summary: It was Bonehead’s fault, really.“D’you know incest’s legal in France?” he’d said one day, apropos of nothing, like it was a perfectly normal thing to insert into a conversation about effect pedals. Liam, who’d been lying sprawled on the sofa with an expression of exaggerated boredom painted on his face, had raised his head in interest.“Is it?” he’d said, sounding far too intrigued.Noel hadn’t thought anything more of it for a few days, once the adrenaline had subsided, until one evening at his flat in Manchester, when Liam, draped across the messed-up sheets on Noel’s bed, speaks into the cosy silence of the room.“Let’s go to Paris,” he says.
Relationships: Liam Gallagher & Noel Gallagher, Liam Gallagher/Noel Gallagher
Comments: 35
Kudos: 79





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly don't even know what happened with this i really thought it was going to be a quick 3k fic and so far i have 16k so that's what's been going on over here 
> 
> i cannot stress enough how much this fic (and me) owe to [OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed/pseuds/OnTheWrongSideOfTheBed) for reading the entire thing through and being so encouraging and sweet and also just a brilliant person and friend can i sing your praises enough? try me
> 
> i havent been to paris in years so the accuracy of this fic is probably very questionable i hope no french people are reading this

It was Bonehead’s fault, really.

“D’you know incest’s legal in France?” he’d said one day, apropos of nothing, like it was a perfectly normal thing to insert into a conversation about effect pedals. Liam, who’d been lying sprawled on the sofa with an expression of exaggerated boredom painted on his face, had raised his head in interest. 

“Is it?” he’d said, sounding far too intrigued. Noel had shot him a sharp look, a _don’t you fucking dare_ look, which Liam had steadfastly ignored. 

“Yeah,” Bonehead had said, not sounding at all suspicious of Liam’s interest in the matter. Liam’s eyes had flickered to Noel, and Noel’s heart rate had sped up to the beat of the _no, no, no, Bonehead’ll know, he’ll fucking know_ thumping in his head, and so he’d glared back, hoped the tightness on his face would convey _change the fucking topic of conversation right now, so help me God._

“Huh,” was all Liam had said, and then he’d flopped back down onto the sofa and stared up at the ceiling. “You done with your pedal shit, then?” And the moment had passed. 

Noel hadn’t thought anything more of it for a few days, once the adrenaline had subsided, until one evening at his flat in Manchester, when Liam, draped across the messed-up sheets on Noel’s bed, speaks into the cosy silence of the room. 

“Let’s go to Paris,” he says. 

“Why?” Noel says. Liam rolls onto his side, props himself up on one elbow, and blinks at where Noel’s standing smoking out of the window. 

“It’s legal, innit?” he says. 

“What is?” 

“Us.” Noel stares him down, takes a long drag of his fag, holds it for a good fifteen seconds and then exhales it out of the corner of his mouth. 

“You’re taking Bonehead’s word for that?” 

“No,” Liam says. “Did my research, me. It’s legal.” Noel arches an eyebrow, searching Liam’s face for the slightest hint of a lie, but finds nothing beyond open candour. 

What’s he supposed to say? _Yeah, go on then, let’s go to Paris. Croissants and cock in the morning, escargot and incest in the afternoon._ What sort of fantasy world does Liam live in? 

“No,” he says. Liam seems to have been expecting that, though. 

“Why not?” he presses. 

“Because I said so.” Liam rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t you want it?” he says. “Aren’t you sick of hiding?” Yes, Noel wants to say. He’s fucking sick of it choking his lungs, an ironclad grip around his throat that says _you can’t love him, you can’t have him, you can’t, you can’t, you can’t._ But it’s not safe any other way. That ironclad grip is his own.

“No. And you don’t have any fucking money, so I’d be paying for the whole thing.” 

“And?” It’s Noel’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“You’re fucking spoilt, you are,” he says, and flicks his cigarette butt out of the window. Liam just grins at him, still too fucked-out and blissful to really care. 

“Yeah,” he says, all proud, like it’s an achievement, and rolls onto his back as Noel heads back to the bed. “But you’re the one who spoils me.” 

He’s got a point. 

\-------

Liam Gallagher is a man of many flaws. 

He’s impatient, he’s brash, he’s often rude, he doesn’t think before he speaks or acts - barely thinks at all, really, Noel thinks sometimes - and he can’t see past his own ego half the time. He’s self-important, whines a lot, and is so temperamental that it’s shaved a solid thirty years off Noel’s life so far. The list goes on and on - and on - but Noel thinks one of his worst flaws is not understanding the meaning of the word ‘no’.

(“No,” Noel says, when Liam sidles up behind him at rehearsal and asks whether Noel’s booked tickets to Paris yet. 

“No,” Noel says two days later, when Liam shows him a brochure of the Eiffel Tower that he’s picked up somewhere - probably nicked from the library, Christ, the thing looks older than Noel - and asks whether they can go there when they’re in Paris. 

“No,” Noel says the next week, when Liam says _I’ve been doing some research, me, and I found us a nice hotel to stay in. Got king-size beds, and all._ )

Noel’s not much better, though. Maybe it’s just the Gallagher curse to be a cunt, he doesn’t know. He might not be as much of a childish twat as Liam, but he’s bitter and jaded, has a nasty cruel streak that gets the best of him more often than not, and is incredibly proud. There are plenty of things Noel could do with bettering about himself, but one of the most important is the fact that he can never hold out against Liam’s relentless attacks indefinitely. 

“Fucking hell,” he snaps one day, when Liam pointedly says he wants to go to Café Rouge for dinner. “If we go to Paris, will you get off my fucking back?” Liam, knowing he’s at the brink of eroding Noel’s last barrier, blinks solemnly up at him, and nods sincerely. 

“I swear,” he says. “I’ll never ask you for owt again.” 

“You’re a fucking liar,” Noel tells him, and herds him into a Pizza Express instead. It’s not a no, though, which means it’s a yes, so Liam lets himself be shoved into the restaurant with a little more force than strictly necessary, and only orders a margherita since _you’ve got to be saving money, now, innit?_

(Noel regrets acquiescing already.) 

\-------

Planning a trip to Paris is more of a fucking headache than Noel had expected. 

There’s the travel there, and the travel back, and the hotel, which is already enough of a faff, but then there’s figuring out the logistics of getting around while they’re there, and what sights they can see when, not to mention trying to sort out how much it’s all going to cost. It gives him a fucking headache, absolutely does his head in and eventually he just decides _fuck it, I’ve got the ferry, I’ve got the hotel, Liam can do the fucking rest._

It’s just a weekend, because Noel really can’t afford much more, but Noel knows it’s enough when he wordlessly slaps down two tickets in front of Liam on his way to help Mam with the dishes and Liam’s face splits into a huge, blissful grin. Noel’s already out of the room by then, doesn’t want to stick around and have to go through the whole thrilled-child-routine that’ll inevitably follow, but Liam trails after him, clutching the tickets to his chest. 

“I’m going to Paris, mam,” he says happily, and their mam hums idly, handing Noel a plate to dry. 

“That’s nice, Liam,” she says, in that voice that people use on animals, small children, and Liam. “What’ll you do there, hm?” 

“I don’t know,” Liam says, eyes shining with excitement. “Noel’s taking me.” Their mam turns to Noel with a raised eyebrow and a quizzical look, and Noel shrugs. 

“It’s my birthday present to him ‘til the end of time,” he says, and she smiles and hands him another plate. 

“Well, I’m glad you’re going with him,” she says, scrubbing at a knife. 

“Mm,” Noel says, wiping the already-dry plate in his hands with the tea towel three more times, just so he won’t have to look at her. She wouldn’t be so pleased if she knew why. A lovely little incestuous getaway, Noel defiling her beautiful boy in the city of love. It’d make him sick if he weren’t filled to the brim with this twisted love already, too full to take on anything else.

“When are you going?” she asks. 

“Next weekend,” Noel says, and takes the knife she holds out to him. 

“Well, be sure to pack warm clothes,” she says, and Liam just hums happily as he skips out of the room like he hasn’t even heard her. “That means you too, Liam, don’t think I don’t know you heard me,” she calls after him. 

“Yes, ma,” floats down the stairs, a little annoyed, and neither Noel nor his mam can suppress their fond smiles. 

\-------

“Will you stop?” Noel snaps, when Liam rises out of his seat for the third time in fifteen minutes. 

“What?” Liam says, resting his chin on the top of the seat in front of him. 

“You’re being fucking annoying.” 

“So?” Noel grinds his teeth. 

“So stop it.” Liam shrugs carelessly. 

“Nah,” he says, and surveys their carriage of the train. It’s fairly empty, because it’s arse o’clock in the morning, and nobody else is stupid enough to go all the way from Manchester to Dover with their fucking annoying little brother. “How much longer?”

“Three hours.” Noel doesn’t know if he can take three more hours in close quarters with Liam, let alone three more days. This is the worst fucking idea Liam’s ever had, and Noel’s the stupidest cunt in the world for going along with it. 

“I’m bored,” Liam complains, flopping back down into his seat, like it’s Noel’s problem. 

“I don’t care,” Noel says, flipping to the next page of his book, even though he hasn’t taken in the last five. 

“Aren’t you excited?” Liam says. 

“No.”

“Me and you, in Paris, just us…” Liam says, letting the last sentence trail off as a happy smile finds its way onto his face, beaming at Noel like he should be pleased about the fact that they’re doing this, going on this fucked-up little incest weekend. Noel just throws him a withering look, and turns back to his book. It doesn’t deter Liam one bit, humming contentedly as he bounces his leg and stares out of the window. 

“It’s going to be great,” he says, to himself. “Paris. Me and you.” His lips are curved up in a soft smile, something tender and fond to it that Noel doesn’t see all that often, and Noel can’t bring himself to let the acrid words on the tip of his tongue slip out, to watch that smile falter. 

“Shut up, you cunt,” he says instead, but it’s more exasperated than anything, and Liam’s smile stays put. 

\-------

Liam’s fond of ferries. 

“Look at this shit, man,” he says, leaning over a railing with a cigarette in his hand, using it to wave at the white cliffs they’ve left behind. “That’s England.” 

“Yeah.” Noel sort of gets what he means, though. _That’s our country we’re leaving behind,_ he’s saying. _We can be different people out here._

“Mental,” Liam says, an edge of wonder in his tone, and lifts the cigarette to his lips. Noel watches his lips hollow around it, the way he’s staring steadfastly at the cliffs, and then rests his own arms on the railing, hunching down next to Liam, who leans into him a little on automatic pilot, shoulder bumping against Noel’s. They _are_ different people now, Noel thinks, watching his homeland get smaller and smaller, shimmering white in the distance. They don’t have to be Noel and Liam from Manchester, broke and trying to make it in a semi-shitty band while spending all their money on drugs. They can be any Noel and Liam they like. 

They stand there in silence for a long moment, feeling the cool sea breeze whip around their faces, Liam taking long drags from his fag from time to time, and then Liam holds his hand out in front of the two of them, tanned skin stark against the blue water and white wake. He spreads his fingers, still looking out at Dover, and flicks the butt of his cigarette into the sea. Noel knows what he’s asking for, but can’t help looking over his shoulder once to check that nobody’s there, that Bonehead hasn’t snuck onto the boat and is watching them have their little moment of peace or something, before reaching out and slotting his fingers in between Liam’s. They fit perfectly - of course they do, they’re made of the same DNA - and Liam’s hand is warm and heavy in his, soft where Noel’s is calloused, and his fingers curl around Noel’s, squeezing gently. 

It’s innocuous enough on the surface, the two of them holding hands, but Noel’s seen it reflected in a mirror before, seen the way their bodies automatically lean into one another, the slight tilt of their heads, the security and comfort written all over their postures and faces. It’s far too intimate for brothers, marks them as lovers, and it frightens Noel a little even now, even with their backs to the rest of the ferry and no one within twenty metres of them. His fingers slacken in Liam’s, a millisecond from pulling away, but Liam tightens his grip, like he’s trying to say _no, not now, it’s different now._

“We’re not in France yet,” Noel says, a little weakly, but Liam doesn’t let go. 

“We’re not in England, either,” he counters. 

Noel’s fingers tighten in Liam’s again. 

\-------

The hotel is surprisingly well-located, for something Liam had come up with. Liam tends to only think about the smaller-scale things, the _do they have free breakfast_ and the _how mint’s the bathroom,_ but when Noel had looked up the name of the place Liam had proudly announced that allegedly had these king-size beds, it had been fairly central, so Noel had booked it. 

“Sweeney,” he says to the girl at the reception desk, when she asks in a heavy French accent under what name they’ve booked. He ignores the glance Liam shoots his way - what, did the idiot really think Noel would be so stupid as to use their real name? - and signs where the girl tells him to sign, nods along as she reels off a list of rules and times for breakfast and tea, and then takes both of the keys that she hands over. 

“Sweeney?” Liam asks, as they head for the lift. 

“What?” Noel says, stabbing at the button to call the lift down. It’s sort of their name, isn’t it? He’d considered changing it for a while when he was a teenager, in the height of his anger against their father, only decided against it when he realised Noel Sweeney isn't exactly a particularly good name for a songwriter. He sees Liam looking at him again out of the corner of his eye as he stares steadfastly forwards, counting the tiny triangles in the metal of the lift door, and then Liam seems to give up on that train of questioning and turns to face the doors just as they open. 

They’re on the third floor, the most expensive room Noel could afford, with a balcony facing the main road. The tip of the Eiffel Tower’s visible in the distance, and Liam dumps his bag unceremoniously onto the bed and rushes to the window in excitement, jabbing at the glass pane as he turns back to Noel and says _that’s the fucking Eiffel Tower, that is._

“Aye,” Noel says, putting his bag down on his side of the bed and surveying the rest of the room. It’s nice enough, he thinks, for what he paid for it. There’s a little TV, a desk and a mini fridge, and the bathroom doesn’t look half bad from where he’s stood. He thinks Liam will like it, which is the main thing. 

“This room is mega,” Liam says happily, and throws himself down on the bed, shoes and all, grinning up at the ceiling for a split second before he rolls onto his side and grins at Noel instead. 

“Should be, for what it cost,” Noel remarks. “And get your fucking shoes off the bed.” Liam rolls his eyes, but his grin doesn’t abate as he kicks his shoes off one by one and pushes them off the bed with his foot. 

“We’re in Paris,” he says, like he can’t quite believe it. 

“We’re in Paris,” Noel confirms, and unzips his bag and starts taking his things out. Passports - he’s got Liam’s too, of course, Liam can’t be trusted with so much as a shoelace let alone a government-issued document - and money, to go in the safe, and then his toiletries and clothes. Liam watches him unpack, eyes following him as he walks from the bed to the wardrobe to the bed to the safe to the bed again, and then, when Noel’s got nothing left to occupy his hands with, props himself up on his elbow and scoots towards the edge of the bed. 

“I’m hungry,” he says. Noel’s not surprised; the kid only ate a bag of Quavers on the ferry. He takes a quick look at his watch - shit, he needs to change it - and thinks as he’s winding the hands forwards. It’s five in France, four in England, which is a bit early for tea, but maybe there’s a nice café nearby which’ll have something small Liam can’t gorge himself on so he’ll still have room to eat a proper meal tonight. 

“Let’s go to a café,” Noel says, and Liam beams at him. 

“I want a croissant,” he says, and hops off the bed happily. 

“You’ll get what they give you,” Noel says, just because Liam’s good mood is off-putting, but it does nothing to dent the smile on Liam’s face. Liam scurries around the bed to pick up the shoes he’d kicked off ten minutes ago, stuffs his feet into them inelegantly, and then turns back to Noel with an expectant look on his face. He looks so fucking pretty, Noel thinks, so pleased and happy to be here with Noel, just the two of them, almost vibrating with excitement, and Noel can’t help the way his heart thaws a little at that, the way his lips quirk upwards, the way his eyes soften. 

“C’mere,” he says, and Liam obeys, because he always does. He steps towards Noel and stops a few inches short - a few inches too far, so Noel brings his hands up to Liam’s waist and pulls him closer, until their bodies are pressed flush against each other. He can feel Liam’s heart thudding in his chest, the same fabric as Noel’s own, and can see the same blue eyes as Noel’s blinking owlishly down at him, and it makes his heart twist in its place, makes him think _how could we ever be wrong, when we were cut from the same cloth?_

He can’t follow that train of thought to its inevitable conclusion, though, can’t bear to start the weekend with heartbreak, so he leans up and presses his lips to Liam’s, soft and chaste. Liam goes pliant under him immediately, melts into it, parts his lips for Noel, but Noel doesn’t take it, doesn’t want to do anything for the moment but kiss Liam slowly, gently, languidly. Liam doesn’t push, either, just lets himself be kissed, and kisses back with the kind of quiet, thrumming passion that only Liam can muster. It makes Noel’s veins splutter with sparks, too tired from the long journey to really catch, and when he pulls away he can’t help but rest his forehead against Liam’s, smiling as Liam’s eyes blur into one. 

“C’mon,” he says, even though he’s the one holding Liam and not moving. “Let’s get you a croissant.” Even this close, when Liam’s features are all blending together, Noel can see the happy smile lighting up Liam’s eyes, and can’t help the way his eyes crinkle at the corners to match. 

( _Yin and yang,_ Liam always says. 

_You don’t even know what that means,_ Noel will say dismissively. 

_Yeah, I do,_ Liam will say indignantly, brow furrowed in a frown. _It’s me and you, innit._

In moments like these, Noel can’t have a shred of doubt about that.)

\-------

They find a little café tucked away in a side street not too far from their hotel, because Liam hasn’t packed his warm coat like Mam told him to and is moaning about being cold thirty seconds after leaving the hotel. It’s cosy and warm inside, and Liam orders two croissants and a little oblong chocolate cake, and Noel tells him he’s not eating all that before tea, so Liam scowls and reduces the order to one croissant and the little oblong cake. Noel just gets a coffee, wanting to save himself and his money for tea, and they sit at a tiny table in the corner, Noel sipping at his coffee and Liam tucking into his croissant, getting flakes of pastry all over his fingers and the table. 

“You’re a fucking pig,” Noel tells him, looking down at the mess Liam’s made. He gets two greasy, croissant-covered fingers shoved up at him for his effort as Liam reaches for the little chocolate cake with his other hand. “You’re supposed to use a fork with that,” Noel adds, when Liam makes to raise the cake into his mouth, and Liam stops, puts it back on the plate, and makes a show of picking up the fork the waitress had left with it. 

“Happy?” he says, cutting off about half of the cake and scooping it into his mouth. Noel wrinkles his noose, takes another dignified sip of his coffee, and shakes his head disparagingly. Liam shrugs and shoves the other half of the cake into his mouth unceremoniously, and Noel tuts and rolls his eyes. 

“Can’t take you fucking anywhere,” he says, and Liam eyes him with bulging cheeks. 

“Oo mm ee ‘rs,” he says. Noel stares him down, and Liam swallows, and repeats: “You took me to Paris.” 

“Yeah, and don’t make me regret it,” Noel says, picking up a napkin from the table and holding it out for Liam, who’s smeared chocolate around his lips. 

“Do it for me,” Liam says, and leans forwards. 

“Are you fucking five?” he says to Liam. “Do it yourself.” 

“No,” Liam says, and stays put. Noel glances at the girl behind the counter, who’s preoccupied with chatting to the waitress that had served them. He could, he supposes. He could do it ostentatiously, tut and roll his eyes and say _really, Liam, grow up,_ make it obvious that he’s being a big brother to his annoying kid sibling. Or he could do it quietly, intimately, wipe the chocolate from Liam’s lips like they’re his property, like he has the right to touch Liam there whenever he pleases. 

Or, he could be fucking normal, and not do it at all.

“Do it yourself,” Noel says again, and throws the napkin at him. Liam blinks at him, a flash of hurt crossing his face. 

“We’re in France,” he says. 

“I know.”

“So do it.” Noel knows what he’s trying to say. _We’re here so we can be together, innit? So let’s fucking be together._ Noel can’t recall ever wiping chocolate from any of his girlfriends’ lips, though. Probably largely because they weren’t so fucking incompetent at eating. 

“Isn’t it enough that I took you here?” Noel says, a little irritably, frustration and embarrassment burning hot in his stomach. It’s their first day here, and Liam’s already being a prick. He should’ve known, really. Liam’s not capable of going thirty seconds without weaselling his way under Noel’s skin. 

“No,” Liam says, but he picks up the napkin and wipes at his mouth anyway, a little jerkily, brows furrowed like he’s angry. He is angry, Noel thinks, when Liam throws the napkin aside petulantly. He’s angry because he’s upset. 

Noel sighs, because this isn’t how he wanted the weekend to go, and Liam’s still got a tiny bit of chocolate on the corner of his mouth, and before he’s really thought it thorough he’s wetting the tip of his thumb and bringing it to Liam’s lips, wiping away the last trace of Liam’s first taste of Paris. Liam’s lips part under Noel’s touch, probably in surprise, definitely in contentment, and he holds completely still, docile under the slightest of Noel’s touches. It’s fucking heady, makes Noel feel instantly powerful, that a slight brush of Noel’s thumb can do that. 

“There,” he says, but he doesn’t pull his thumb away, just rests it next to Liam’s mouth and cups Liam’s jaw with his hand. Liam tilts his head into Noel’s touch, pushing closer, making Noel’s heart rate pick up. He steals another quick glance at the waitress and cashier, neither of whom are paying attention, and reminds himself that they don’t know who he is, here. It doesn’t matter, because they don’t know Liam and Noel are brothers. And, allegedly, even if they somehow knew, there’s nothing they can do besides call them names and kick them out of the café, which is hardly anything new to Noel. Nothing matters here, other than Liam. 

“That was a good croissant,” Liam says, and Noel feels the vibrations of his voice in his jaw. He spreads his fingers, trying to hold as much of Liam’s face and throat in his hands as he can, and Liam hums contentedly, tries to let Noel get to as much of him as possible. 

“Have you got room for tea?” Noel asks, because he’s starting to get a little hungry himself, despite the coffee. Liam nods - of course he has, the kid’s a fucking bottomless pit - and Noel tilts his head to look at Liam properly, blue on blue. 

“D’you want to eat at the hotel?” he asks, and Liam shakes his head. 

“I want to go out,” he says decisively. 

“Let’s walk along the river,” Noel suggests. “There’s bound to be something there.” Liam smiles, nods, and turns his head to press a quick kiss to Noel’s palm. 

“Not eating any fucking frog’s legs, though, mind,” Liam says, and Noel can’t help but snort as he drops his hand from Liam’s jaw, palm tingling where Liam’s lips had been. 

“You wouldn’t even know if you ordered them,” he remarks, scraping his chair back along the tile floor and earning himself a glare from the waitress. “Didn’t bother learning any French before coming here, did you?” 

“Nah,” Liam says breezily, getting to his feet. “Rather leave that to you. Sound fucking sexy when you speak French.” 

“Piss off,” Noel says, but he can’t quite make it sound as scornful as he wants when there’s a small smile playing at his lips and his stomach’s on fire. There’s nothing sexy about French with a strong Mancunian accent, he’s fully aware of that, but the idea of it makes his veins constrict deliciously, the idea of Liam sat gazing at Noel as he orders a fucking crème brûlée and thinking _fuck, that’s sexy._ Noel’s not exactly someone with a lot of sex appeal, and Liam is, so the fact that _Liam_ finds Noel that attractive still makes his head spin, sometimes. 

“En français?” Liam says cheekily, as they head out of the café, and Noel snorts. 

“La get fucked,” he says, and Liam laughs, loud and merry, stolen from Noel by the cold wind. 

It’s okay, though, he thinks, as Liam skips ahead, peering into shop windows as he goes, and Noel ambles along behind. The wind can have this one; Noel knows there'll be a thousand more for him.

\-------

They find a place with outdoor tables that Liam insists upon sitting at despite the fact he’s only got a thin coat on and it’s in the single digits out. The waiter offers to bring them blankets and a portable heater, which Noel gratefully accepts with a glare in Liam’s direction, but Liam’s so wound up and bouncing with both a sugar high and excitement that he doesn’t even feel the temperature. 

“What d’you reckon ‘champignon parmentier au gratin’ is?” Liam asks, in the thickest Manchester accent Noel’s ever heard him use, almost like he’s making a point to the French language. 

“No clue,” Noel says. “Champignon’s a mushroom, I think.” Liam frowns. 

“Reckon it’s mushrooms with parmesan? Parmentier looks a bit like parmesan, doesn’t it? Sounds a bit grim.” 

“Where is it?” Liam reaches over and points about halfway down Noel’s menu, and Noel’s eyes his finger to the words. Champignon parmentier au gratin. Seeing the words doesn’t help; he’s not got a fucking clue. 

“Nah,” Noel says, shaking his head as he returns to the fish dishes he’s been eyeing up. “They’d write parmesan if it was parmesan.”

“Maybe it’s the French for parmesan.”

“I don’t think they have a different word.”

"You don't _think,"_ Liam says pointedly. Noel rolls his eyes. 

“Just order it, then,” he says. “See what it is.” Liam pulls a face. 

“What if it’s frog’s legs?” 

“It isn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know what frog’s legs are in French.” Liam looks at him over the top of his menu, surprised. 

“What is it?”

“I’m not telling you.” Noel watches Liam’s brow furrow in a scowl. 

“Why not?"

“Because then there’s no chance of you accidentally ordering them.” Liam’s frown deepens. 

“You’re a cunt,” he says, matter-of-fact, and Noel can’t help but laugh. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, and puts his menu down. “I’m going for the salmon.” Liam glances back down at the menu. 

“How d’you know it’s salmon?”

“Well, it’s called _saumon,_ ” Noel says. 

“Might be a, a, what d’you call ‘em, bad mate,” Liam says. Noel stares at him. 

“A bad mate,” he repeats. 

“Y’know, them things, I remember Mr Henderson teaching us about them,” Liam says, a little defensively. Noel clearly remembers Mr Henderson, the French teacher at their school - balding and miserable and with a vociferous hatred of anyone with the surname Gallagher - but has no recollection of him ever using the phrase _bad mate._ “Them words that look similar but mean completely different things.” 

“A false friend?” Liam’s face clears. 

“Yeah! Yeah, that.” Noel looks at him for a moment, and then snorts. 

“A bad mate,” he repeats again, and Liam scowls, but it’s good-natured. 

“Fuck off,” he grumbles, but Noel can see the sparkle in his eyes as he sets the menu down decisively. “Well, I’ll have what you’re having, then.”

“Why?” 

“‘Cause then I know it’s not frog’s legs.” Noel can’t help but grin at that, shaking his head as he puts his own menu down. 

“You’re daft,” he tells Liam, who grins right back. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, eyes lit up in the dim light of the heater. They’re full to the brim with the sort of childlike adoration that Liam’s still too young to be rid of, that fierce admiration and love and fire that Noel’s not sure will ever be extinguished, the one time Noel can look in Liam’s eyes and not see himself. He knows his own eyes never betray him like that, has carefully cultivated his cynicism to add a sheen of scepticism to any emotion that may find its way to his eyes, has trained himself not to think too hard about how he feels about Liam because he can’t trust his own eyes to keep their secret. 

“What?” Liam says, a little self-consciously, and Noel realises he’s been staring. He blinks, snaps himself out of it, and shakes his head. 

“Nowt,” he says. 

“No, what?” Liam presses. Noel inhales, purses his lips. 

“Just thinking,” he says, with a shrug. 

“About me?” 

“No, you fucking narcissist,” Noel says. Liam smiles. 

“You were,” he says. “What were you thinking?” 

“I wasn’t thinking about you.”

“What were you thinking, then?” 

“Christ, why the fuck do you care?”

“Because I know you were thinking about me.” Noel sighs, exasperated and long-suffering, and throws his hands up. 

“Thinking about how insufferable you are,” he says. 

“See?” Liam says triumphantly. “I said you were thinking about me.” Noel rolls his eyes. Only Liam would class Noel thinking about how much of a cunt he is as a victory. 

“You’re fucking impossible,” Noel says, and before Liam has a chance to respond the waiter’s at their table asking in a very strong accent whether they’re ready to order. Noel tries his best to use what broken French he still has and the poor waiter tries his best with English, and eventually they resort to just miming and pointing, which works much better. They’re the only two people stupid enough to be sat outside in this temperature, which Noel’s sort of glad for, because it means he doesn’t have to catch himself whenever he thinks he might be staring at Liam a little _too_ fondly as he gestures wildly about fucking croissants and taxis, or whatever the fuck he’s on about now. _‘S fucking mega, innit?_ he’s saying, when the waiter comes around with their food. Noel doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about - the city, the food, the two of them - but he finds himself agreeing nonetheless. 

They eat in silence for a little while, savouring every bite - shit, the food really is good - until Liam sighs and lets his knife and fork clatter down, rests his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand and smiles. 

“Look at this,” he says dreamily, gesturing out at the river with his other hand. There are small boats sailing past slowly, cutting through the glittering water silently and smoothly. The buildings on the other side of the river are lit up, casting bright shadows on the water, something oddly enchanting about the soft orange glow. Noel can sort of see why this is supposed to be the city of love. That might just be because he’s here with Liam, though. 

“Mm,” Noel hums, not really able to think of any words that would do it justice. It’s so peaceful here, so serene, and Noel feels like they’re in a bubble, like none of the things that always weigh on his mind matter anymore. Who cares that he’s not got a steady job? He’s scraped enough money together to bring Liam here, and that’s what matters. Who cares that their band might not make it? He gets to write songs about Liam, gets to have Liam sing his words and melodies for him, and that’s what matters. Who fucking cares that him and Liam are brothers? They’re in love, they’re so fucking gone for each other, and they’re in the city that’ll keep their secret for them. 

“Paris is the fucking best,” Liam says happily, and Noel can’t help but smile at him. 

Paris is just fucking Paris, he thinks. It's Liam that makes it the best.

\-------

They pull out a map that Noel had picked up in the hotel lobby and work out that they can walk along the river most of the way back, so they do, ambling side-by-side in silence, each lost in their own thoughts as they gaze out at the lights shimmering on the water. The city’s not exactly quiet, but it’s got an air of peace about it, like it knows who and what Noel and Liam are and it’s saying _it’s okay, it’s still love._

Halfway back, Noel feels something warm on his hand, and looks down to see Liam trying to link his fingers with Noel’s. Noel pulls his hand away, up and to his chest, and looks at Liam, hidden in the semi-darkness between streetlights. 

“No,” he says. 

“Why?” Liam demands, already sounding a little stroppy. 

“We can’t,” Noel says. 

“Why not?” 

“You know why.” Liam stops, and Noel stops in front of him, turning back to look at him. 

“What’s the point in this if you’re not going to do it?” Liam says, sounding upset. 

“What?” 

“We came to France for a _reason,_ ” Liam says. “It’s _legal_ here.” 

“It might be legal, but it’s still not something to go shouting about, is it?” Noel says. Legal doesn’t mean acceptable, does it? People will still frown and mutter about the boys with the same eyebrows and the same eyes snogging in the middle of the street.

“I’m just trying to hold your hand, not suck your dick in the fucking Louvre,” Liam says. Noel raises his eyebrows, surprised Liam even knows what the Louvre is and that it’s in Paris. 

“Since when are you a fucking art connoisseur?” he asks mildly, half just to rile Liam up, and Liam scowls, a mask of irritation to hide the hurt. 

“Get fucked,” he says shortly. “Why did you even bring me here if you don’t want to be with me?” 

“Who said that?” Noel deflects. Liam lifts his chin defiantly, staring Noel down from the shadows, eyes narrowed slightly as they dart across his face, trying to find chinks in his armour. Noel does his best to shake out his chainmail, to smooth over any potential cracks, but he’s too late, because Liam’s rocking back on his heels with a look of grim satisfaction; he’s found what he was looking for.

“Why are you so fucking scared?” he demands, like it’s Noel’s fault that he can’t just push all semblance of morality aside and announce to the world that he’s shagging his brother. 

“Christ, I can’t just fucking turn it off,” Noel says, voice rising a little. “It’s _wrong,_ Liam. We’re _wrong._ It’s not right. It doesn’t matter if it’s legal or not, it’s not _right._ ” 

“You don’t believe that,” Liam says, sounding dead fucking sure of it. 

“Don’t I?” 

“You wouldn’t be here if you did.” The kid’s got a point. Try as he might, disgusted as he might feel after every single kiss, every fuck, every _I love you_ breathed between the two of them, Noel always comes running back. Because how can it be _wrong,_ when Liam slots into parts of Noel he didn’t even know were empty, completes parts of him that he didn’t even know were incomplete? How can it be wrong when Noel’s never felt as at peace as he does when he’s lying with Liam asleep on his chest, fingers tangled together, feeling their heartbeats syncing up like they were born to be one, not two? How can it be wrong, Noel thinks, if it’s the only thing outside of his guitar that makes him feel right? 

“I _should_ believe it,” Noel mutters, more to himself than to Liam, and Liam knows he’s got him, and smiles brightly in the darkness. 

“We’re not hurting anyone,” Liam says. “‘S not like I’m gonna go and get myself knocked up, now, is it?” Well, no, Noel thinks, as his brain helpfully supplies _imagine if you could get him up the duff. Everyone would know he’s all yours_ _._ But just because it’s not _that_ wrong doesn’t make it right. 

“Thank fuck for that,” he says. “You’d be a right ‘mare, you would.” 

“Fucking right,” Liam says smartly. “I’d be wanting foot massages all day, and that. Least you could do for me carrying your kid.” Something warm spreads throughout Noel’s stomach at that, making him shiver; Christ, the idea of Liam carrying his kid. Something about it taps into an animalistic part of his brain, makes him think _yes_ and _mine_ and _ours._ Maybe it’s a good thing Liam had turned out a boy instead of the little sister Noel had always wanted. 

The thought eats away at his resistance, though, and he sighs, thrusts out his hand stiffly like he used to when they were ten and five and Liam would hold his sticky little hand out before crossing the road, and Liam grins just as big and serenely as he used to back then, and laces their fingers together. It balances Noel, almost immediately makes him feel a little more settled, better with Liam than he could ever be without. 

“Happy?” he says, as irritably as he can, and Liam just smiles adoringly up at him. It should make him sick, really, should make him want to pull away and wipe his hand on his shirt and tell Liam he’s fucked in the head, definitely shouldn’t make him want to pull Liam in and kiss him under the weak light of Parisian streetlights. 

“Yeah,” Liam says happily, a dreamlike quality to his voice, and Noel can’t help the way his fingers twitch, wanting to hold Liam closer. Liam gets it, always does, and tightens his grip on Noel so Noel won't have to concede a single inch. 

They walk the rest of the way back in silence, heartbeats thudding together, palms warm against each other, and when they pass a ferry full of drunk people who cheer at them, Noel, without even thinking about it, raises their joined hands to wave back. They get a bunch of whoops and wolf-whistles in response, and Noel’s heart rate triples, but his grip on Liam doesn’t slacken. Nobody on the boat has seen their eyes, irrefutable evidence of their shared DNA. They’re just two boys standing on the banks of the Seine, holding hands in the dim orange glow of the streetlights. They could be anyone. 

A burst of adrenaline rushes through Noel at that thought, at the fact that the people on the ferry have turned away and are laughing at something else now, not at all aware of what they’ve just witnessed. He sort of gets why Liam wanted to come here, now. It’s the first time he’s felt free. 

\-------

It’s not even that late by the time they get back to the hotel - ten-thirty, maybe eleven - but given that they’re both running on three hours’ sleep, they beeline for the bed and collapse into it fully-clothed, both rolling onto their backs and staring up at the ceiling. 

“D’you want the bathroom first?” Noel asks. 

“Nah,” Liam says, through a yawn. “You go first.” Noel knows full well that if he goes in first Liam’ll be fast asleep by the time he gets back and then refuse to get into his pyjamas, so he rolls onto his side and blinks at Liam. 

“You go,” he says. “You’ll just sleep in your clothes otherwise.” Liam scowls, eyes a little cloudy from tiredness. 

“Who cares?” he says. “My clothes, innit?” Noel sighs, and pushes at Liam’s shoulder, just enough to shake him a little. Liam groans dramatically, resists for a moment but then lets himself be pushed, stumbling off the bed and to his feet. 

“Where’s my toothbrush?” he says, rooting around in his bag and tossing things over his shoulder as he rummages - a pair of socks, a pair of underwear, a stick of deodorant. 

“Wherever you left it,” Noel says. Liam groans again, like it’s Noel’s fault the twat doesn’t know how to pack a bag properly, but after a few more seconds of searching he emerges with a toothbrush in one hand and a tube of toothpaste in the other. 

“Remember to brush for two minutes,” Noel calls after Liam as he heads off to the bathroom, dragging his feet as he goes, the fucking drama queen. Liam just shoves two fingers up at him without even turning around, and Noel cackles as he rolls onto his back again, lies spread-eagle across the whole bed, making sure his arms and legs touch every part of Liam’s side they can get to. 

Liam definitely doesn’t brush for two minutes, but Noel doesn’t even have time to care because he pads out of the bathroom yawning and scratching his bare chest, throws his clothes down on the floor unceremoniously and then jumps into the bed, snuggling up to Noel. 

“Woah, woah, hey,” Noel says, doing his best to extract himself from Liam, who lets himself be pushed aside but pouts nonetheless. “Let me get ready for bed first.” 

“Sleep like that,” Liam says determinedly, and makes to grab for Noel again. Noel’s too quick for him, though, jumping off the bed and standing a good foot away from Liam’s unruly hands. 

“Get to fuck,” he tells Liam, who grumbles but flops onto his back and stares up at the ceiling. 

“Go on, then,” he says grumpily, and Noel can’t help but smile at the tone of his voice, impatient for Noel to return so he can touch him again. 

“Don’t fall asleep,” he warns, and Liam mutters _yeah, yeah, fuck off,_ and sticks his tongue out at Noel as he heads to the bathroom. Noel flips him off just before shutting the door, and hears Liam sag back onto the pillows as he grabs his toothbrush and squeezes some of Liam’s toothpaste on it. 

He can hear Liam shifting around as he brushes, assumes he’s getting under the sheets and trying to get comfortable. By the time he’s finished with his teeth and face and got his pyjamas on, Liam’s silent, and Noel wonders whether he maybe _has_ fallen asleep, so clicks the door open quietly just in case. Liam’s still awake, though, lying curled up in bed with half-lidded eyes, and he smiles sleepily when he sees Noel. 

“Come to bed,” he says, voice all gravelly and low from drowsiness, with an edge of softness Noel never hears during the light of day. 

“Hold your fucking horses,” Noel says, but it’s more gentle than anything, and he places his pile of folded clothes on the desk in the corner, picks Liam’s clothes off the floor, folds them and places them next to his own. 

“Come _on,_ ” Liam whines, and Noel rolls his eyes and re-folds Liam’s jeans, just to make him wait a little longer. Eventually, though, he turns and heads to the bed, pulling the corner of the sheets up and getting in. Liam’s on him before he’s even managed to lie down properly, trying to get a head on his chest and a leg over Noel’s and an arm around his waist, and Noel tuts as he shuffles so he’s got his head on the pillow and then wraps an arm around Liam, pulling him closer. He’s warm against Noel, heat seeping through the thin t-shirt Noel’s got on, and he hums contentedly as he tries to get as close to Noel as he possibly can, nosing into his chest. 

“You’re going to make a mess of my shirt,” Noel tells him, because Liam drools in his sleep, but he doesn’t really care. 

“Good,” Liam says, muffled by the fabric. “Be an improvement.” Noel swats him upside the head lightly. 

“Cheeky cunt,” he says, and Liam hums into his chest, the vibrations reverberating with every beat of Noel’s heart. “Go to sleep.” 

“‘M trying,” Liam mumbles. “You keep talking.” Noel rolls his eyes. Fucking hell, he tries to take his brother on a romantic break to Paris, and this is what he gets? 

He doesn’t say anything back, though, just lets Liam wriggle around until he’s comfortable, more on top of Noel than he is off him, and then closes his eyes and tries to focus on Liam’s slowing heartbeat thudding rhythmically against his ribcage. One-two, one-two, one-two, and he’s starting to fall into that exhaustion himself, one-two-

“Hey,” Liam says, so quietly that Noel thinks he might have imagined it. “Love you.” Noel smiles, small but genuine, and lifts his head to press a kiss to the top of Liam’s. He smells like home.

“Yeah, I know.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay i have to just apologise in advance for the length of this chapter i do not know what happened i shouldn't be allowed near a keyboard 
> 
> i considered splitting it in half but i think it works better as one since its just a single day! again i'm very sorry for this

Liam’s always been an early riser, when he hasn’t been up ‘til God knows when the night before with God knows what coursing through his veins, so Noel knows he shouldn’t be at all surprised when Liam’s squirming restlessly in his arms after what feels like fifteen minutes since Noel closed his eyes. 

“Go back to sleep,” he mumbles, and Liam sighs dramatically, and shifts again. 

“Can’t,” he says. “It’s nearly nine.” Noel groans, squeezes his eyes tightly closed, and then slings an arm across his forehead and opens them a crack. 

“That’s eight back home,” he says, and Liam blinks up at him with wide doe eyes and shrugs. 

“I’m up now,” he says, and throws Noel a beseeching look that says  _ I’m up and I’m bored, so now you have to get up too. _ Noal groans again, and brings his arm down over his eyes. 

“I want breakfast,” Liam declares, as he rolls off of Noel.

“So get breakfast.”

_ “Noel.”  _

_ “Liam.”  _ Liam huffs, and Noel raises his arm back off his eyes just to see Liam’s inevitable pout, and can’t help but laugh when he sees Liam’s even gone so far as to sit up and cross his arms. He looks fucking ridiculous, even more so when his scowl deepens as Noel laughs at him. 

“Fuck off,” he snaps, and Noel grins, reaches out and makes to tuck an errant strand of hair behind Liam’s ear. Liam bats his hand away on principle, but Noel just reaches back again, lets his fingers brush across the shell of Liam’s ear as he pushes the hair back, sending a shiver down Liam’s spine. 

“Cold?” Noel asks, still grinning, and Liam turns back to him with a torn expression, like he can’t decide whether he wants to scowl at Noel or kiss him. 

“You owe me a shag,” Liam says, and he makes it sound like an accusation. Noel raises an eyebrow, and lets his hand drop to Liam’s neck, curling lightly around it. 

“Do I now?” he says, and Liam nods solemnly. 

“Can’t take me to Paris and not shag me,” he says, matter-of-fact. Noel raises his other eyebrow. 

“We’ll see about that,” he says, and tugs at Liam’s throat, pulling him down towards himself. Liam goes readily, flops back down onto the pillow next to Noel, and smiles at him easily, like it’s okay that he’s just asked his older brother to fuck him, like it’s okay that said older brother will give him it, like it’s okay that they’re in Paris and in love and still brothers. 

“You fucking stink,” Noel tells Liam, who pouts, but doesn’t make any move to get up and do anything about it. 

“Are you going to shag me, then, or what?” he asks a little petulantly, never one to mince his words. 

“I need to piss first,” Noel says, and Liam brightens. 

“So you will?” 

“Not if you’re going to be such a twat about it,” Noel says, and Liam rolls onto his back with a melodramatic sigh, like not being a cunt is a huge ordeal for him. 

“Go and piss, then,” he says, and Noel rolls his eyes but gets out of bed, yawning and stretching and cracking every bone in his back as he heads to the loo. He’s slept brilliantly, despite having Liam in his arms all night, squirming and wriggling like he’s allergic to Noel’s touch, and he grins at himself in the mirror as he washes his hands when he’s done. He looks content, still a little sleepy around the edges, like a man in Paris with his lover might do. 

“Come and brush your teeth,” he calls as he squeezes some toothpaste out on his own toothbrush, and he hears a loud, drawn-out groan from the bed followed by rustling sheets and stomping footsteps until the bathroom door is wrenched open to reveal a glowering Liam. 

“I’m not going anywhere near your fucking mouth until you’ve brushed,” Noel remarks with his toothbrush in his mouth, seeing the irritated look on Liam’s face, and Liam scowls but yanks his toothbrush out of the cup he’d left it in last night and snatches the toothpaste out of Noel’s hand. He’s still such a fucking child sometimes, Noel thinks, idly amused as Liam starts brushing, never has known when the appropriate moment for a tantrum is. 

He spits, rinses, and then leans back to watch Liam, eyes following the way Liam’s fingers are curled around the toothbrush, the way his cheeks are hollowed around it, the way his lashes are slightly lowered as he- yeah, it’s probably been about two minutes, right, Noel’s well within his rights to pull the toothbrush out of Liam’s mouth and rinse it off. Liam’s eyes follow him, a little surprised, because Noel’s usually not the impatient one, but he spits and rinses eagerly and then spins to face Noel. 

“Morning,” he says softly, and Noel’s heart feels fit to burst. He brings his hands up to Liam’s waist, rests them in the curve there, and pulls him closer, relishing the way Liam’s breath catches slightly as he does.

“How d’you want it?” he asks, because it’s their first morning in Paris and there’s still plenty of time for Noel to take it how  _ he _ wants it. Might as well spoil Liam a little first; God knows it’ll be the last time in a while. 

“On the bed,” Liam says, and Noel nods, but doesn’t move. It feels strangely perfect, here, like they’re suspended in a moment in time, just the two of them wrapped around each other in the quiet privacy of a Parisian hotel bathroom. 

“Where’s the lube?” Liam asks innocently, and just like that, the moment’s broken. Typical. 

“My bag,” Noel says, and lets his hands drop to his side again. Liam nods, and heads out of the bathroom, Noel trailing behind. 

“Where?” Liam asks, unzipping first one compartment then the next, peering into each one for approximately three seconds before moving on. 

“Middle one,” Noel says, and Liam frowns. 

“I just looked in there,” he says. 

“You fucking glanced at it for half a second,” Noel says, and Liam scowls, but unzips the middle compartment again and sticks his hand in. Sure enough, he emerges with a small bottle of lube wrapped in his fingers, and Noel throws him a  _ see, I told you _ look that earns him a two-fingered salute in response as Liam clambers back onto the bed. 

“Are you going to do me, or should I?” he asks over his shoulder, already halfway through tugging his pyjama bottoms down. 

“What d’you want?” Sometimes, Liam wants to do it himself, wants to get first one, then, two, then three fingers in in rapid succession, wincing through the pain but determined to get it done quickly so he can get Noel in him. Sometimes, though, he wants Noel to do it, because Noel always takes his time, not wanting to hurt Liam, always peppers little kisses along Liam’s spine and makes him want it, makes him need it until he’s rocking back on Noel’s fingers and begging him for more. 

“What time does breakfast finish?” 

“Half ten. But you need to shower first.” Liam considers this for a moment, and then rolls onto his side, uncapping the lube. 

“I’ll do it, then,” he says, and Noel can’t help but snort as he gets onto the bed, kneeling around one of Liam’s shins as Liam wriggles to get into a good position, a look of determination on his face. It probably shouldn’t make Noel’s cock twitch with interest, the fact that Liam wants to make a quick job of opening himself up so he won’t miss the croissants and jam, but it does, because it’s so fucking  _ Liam, _ and he's doing it so he can have Noel as well as the croissants and jam. 

“Don’t use all of it,” Noel says sharply, when Liam dribbles an inordinate amount of lube onto his hands, because his broken French doesn’t extend as far as  _ ‘scuse me, d’you sell lube? My little brother doesn’t know how to ration himself. _

“I’m  _ not _ ,” Liam says, rolling his eyes and thrusting his fingers out for a moment so Noel can see before bringing them to his arse, spreading his legs a little to get better access. He’s already half-hard, dick twitching when he pushes his first finger in with a small grimace, and Noel brings a hand up to rest on the top of Liam’s thigh, thumb stroking lightly over the hair there. Liam loves being watched when he’s like this, loves putting on a show for Noel, fucking thrives under the heat of Noel’s gaze. He’s never wanted anything more than Noel’s attention, so this is fucking it for him, makes him gasp a little and push another finger in when he looks over and sees Noel just staring back at him, watching, studying, memorising every cell in Liam’s body like he wouldn’t already be able to build him up from scratch. 

“You're a little slag, you,” Noel says, when Liam holds his gaze with half-lidded eyes and pushes a third finger in, gasping in both pleasure and pain at the intrusion, but it’s admiring, appreciative. He loves Liam like this, when he’s pliant and willing and wanting nothing more than to be good for Noel. Liam’s eyes flutter shut and his head falls back, and Noel shifts a little, watching Liam’s fingers pump in and out of himself, watching the way his brow furrows and his lips part as the pain gives way to the pleasure. He’s fucking beautiful, Noel thinks, humming as he strokes his thumb over Liam’s thigh again, gentle and tender. He might be the most beautiful thing Noel’s ever seen. 

“C’mon,” Liam says, and pulls his fingers out, chest rising and falling faster than before. “Fuck me.” Noel arches an eyebrow, not convinced that Liam’s prepared enough, but he knows better than to test Liam’s patience by now, so he rolls Liam onto his back and reaches for the lube, making sure to just put on a little extra so it’ll at least be a bit easier for him. 

“Get on with it,” Liam says impatiently, when Noel shuffles closer and lines himself up with Liam’s hole. He pushes his arse back, like he’s trying to get Noel in already, and Noel grins, rubs the head of his cock against Liam’s hole, wet and tight and all fucking his. 

“Come  _ on, _ ” Liam groans, but it’s a little breathless, and Noel laughs, leans forwards and plants his hands either side of Liam’s shoulders, and slowly,  _ so _ fucking slowly, pushes in. 

He was right; Liam’s not  _ quite _ ready yet, but it’s too late now, and the grimace that flits across his face as Noel sinks in the first few inches is quickly replaced with a look of bliss when Noel reaches a hand back, still slightly wet from the lube, and curls it tightly around Liam’s dick, stroking it tantalisingly slowly one, two, three times, before Liam relaxes around him, and he lets go. 

His face is inches from Liam’s, just the way Liam likes it, when Noel can’t shove Liam’s face down into the pillow and pretend it’s some anonymous guy he’s fucking, and Liam wraps his legs around Noel’s back, pulling him in closer. He pulls a little too hard, though, and Noel’s left arm almost gives, but he catches himself just in time, throwing Liam a glare. 

“Watch it,” he says, and Liam rolls his eyes. 

“Move,” he demands, and arches his back, trying to push back on Noel. Just for that, Noel brings one hand to his chest and shoves him back down roughly, not moving an inch as he does it. 

“I’ll move when I fucking move,” he says, and Liam’s lips part a little in indignation, and he clenches around Noel, knowing full well what he’s doing. Christ, it’s fucking heady, the fucking  _ heat _ of him, feels hotter than the spot Noel’s sure is being saved for him in hell ever could. 

Noel stays perfectly still for a few more moments, partially to make sure that Liam really is relaxed and partially just to piss him off, and, when he can trust that Liam won’t try anything again, he takes his hand off Liam’s chest and puts it back next to his shoulder, and pulls almost all the way out. Liam gasps, squeezing his eyes shut, and then moans as Noel pushes back in, hands scrabbling at Noel’s arms, trying to find an anchor. They find it eventually, clasped around Noel’s neck and pulling him in closer as he finds that well-known angle and fucks deeper into Liam. His eyes flutter open again when Noel’s about two inches away from his face, gasping on his inhales and huffing on his exhales as Noel presses against that spot again and again.

Liam’s eyes have always been one of Noel’s favourite things about him, big and blue and stormy, filled with the kind of passion that only a nineteen-year-old - or maybe only Liam - could possibly muster. Even now, when Liam’s docile and pliant under Noel, lying back and taking his cock so fucking well, there’s a fire in his eyes, almost a challenge, and Noel can’t help but give it to him, gritting his teeth as he fucks into him harder, faster, deeper. What else could he do, when there’s that same pleading edge to Liam’s eyes as there was when Noel would tell him  _ no, I’m not playing football with you, piss off, _ or  _ I don’t care that you grazed your knee,  _ or  _ I’m not cooking you tea, fuck off, make your own? _ What else could he do, really, when he sees his own blue eyes staring back at him, bigger and bluer and prettier?

“Is it good?” Liam asks, eyes wide and eager, the words knocked out of him with each of Noel’s thrusts. God, Noel’s a terrible person, he really fucking is, should never have his brother so desperate to be a good little lay for him, but he can’t bring himself to care when he’s so enveloped in Liam, feels him pressing against him from so many angles. 

“Yeah,” Noel says, a little breathlessly, and pushes himself as far up and away from Liam as he can, wanting to drink in as much of him as possible. “Feel so fucking good, Liam.” Liam moans, because nothing feels as good to him as pleasing Noel, and it’s horrible, fucking awful, should make Noel feel sick, shouldn’t make him think  _ God, I love you, I love you, I love you. _

“So fucking pretty,” Noel says, because he’s started now and he can’t stop, never can when he sees the way his words can make Liam writhe under him, gasping and moaning and fucking  _ whining, _ always wanting more. “Such a good boy, Liam. So fucking good for me.” 

“Yeah,” Liam gasps, arching his back, making Noel see fucking stars as he tightens around his cock. “All for you.” 

“Christ,” Noel grits out, and then he’s pulling out completely, sitting back on his arse and tugging Liam towards him. 

“No, c’mon,” Liam whines, resisting Noel’s pull. “I don’t wanna ride you.” Noel rolls his eyes. 

“You’re such a fucking princess,” he mutters, but gets to his feet, a little unsteadily, and holds his hand out for Liam to take. Liam grins at him, big and bright and way too fucking happy for someone currently halfway through being fucked by their own brother, and puts his hand in Noel’s, lets himself be pulled out of the bed. Noel uses it to pull Liam in close, jerking him towards himself so quickly that Liam stumbles on the way, until they’re flush against one another, cocks pressed together in a way that feels fucking electrifying. 

“You want up?” Noel asks, and Liam shakes his head. 

“Against the wall,” he says. Noel’s grateful for it, usually doesn’t like fucking Liam standing up unless he’s pretty close because the boy’s a lot heavier than he looks, so he takes a small step back from Liam and lets him walk the two of them towards the wall, Liam’s hand still hot and sweaty in his own. 

He can’t help himself when he’s got Liam there, pinned between himself and the wall, twists his hand out of Liam’s grip and brings it to his jaw instead, pulling him down for a rough, dirty kiss, all tongues and teeth and desperation. Liam mewls into it, fucking  _ mewls, _ brings his hands around Noel’s waist and pulls him closer, making his cock press uncomfortably against the bone of Liam’s hip. 

“Ow, fucker,” Noel mumbles, and pulls away a little, angling his hips so he’s pressed against the muscle of Liam’s abdomen instead. 

“Sorry,” Liam says, and doesn’t sound the slightest bit sorry about it at all. Noel just rolls his eyes, takes a small step back, and holds his arms out. 

“C’mon,” he says. “Jump.” Liam does, gets his legs around Noel in one smooth, far-too-well-worn motion, and Noel brings one hand around the back of Liam’s thigh, enjoying the way it’s tensed under his touch, and the other between the two of them, lining himself up with Liam’s hole again and letting him sink down. 

“Oh, fuck,” Liam moans, like he’s a fucking porn star, but the kid’s always worn his heart on his sleeve so it makes Noel’s cock twitch deep inside him, because he’s not putting it on, never does. 

“Good?” Noel says, and closes the gap between Liam’s back and the wall again, sliding his hands around to hold him up by his arse. 

“Mm,” Liam sighs, and wriggles experimentally, like he’s trying to get Noel in deeper. “C’mon, move. I want breakfast.” Noel rolls his eyes, but gives it to him, brings Liam down on his cock and lets his own eyes flutter shut in pleasure as Liam moans again, tightening his ankles around Noel’s back. 

“God, you’re such a slag,” Noel grunts, tipping his forehead against Liam’s, and Liam just moans again, loud and unabashed, breath hot and fast on Noel’s cheeks. 

“For you,” Liam says, and Noel can’t help the way his heart and cock both twitch at that, nor the way he grits his teeth and pounds into Liam harder. Liam’s fingers claw at Noel’s back, and Noel hisses  _ stop it, _ but Liam doesn’t, just digs his nails in harder and makes Noel gasp, something about the fact that Liam’s marking him up as his making his vision blur around the edges. 

“‘M close,” Liam says, even though Noel’s not touched the kid, and Noel nods, pulls Liam closer to himself, trying to find a better angle. 

“Get yourself off,” he says, and for once Liam doesn’t pout or argue about it, just snakes a hand between the two of them and starts stroking himself, twisting when he gets to the head of his cock and gasping so fucking prettily, a random mixture of curse words and Noel’s name tumbling one after the other from his lips. It’s fucking intoxicating, makes Noel lurch closer towards his own orgasm, staring down and watching his cock slip in and out of his brother. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s twisted, but nothing’s ever looked better to him, and nothing could ever compare to the feeling of  _ owning _ Liam so fully, of being the only person for whom Liam would spread his legs and take it. 

“Such a good boy, Liam,” he says, and Liam gasps again, a tiny hitch of his breath, and Noel sees his hand speed up on his cock as Noel’s own thrusts get harder and sloppier. “All mine, aren’t you?” 

“Yeah,” Liam says breathlessly, and Noel can tell he’s close, can see it in the way his abs are tensed, the way his breath is coming out in short, sharp bursts. He shouldn’t know that, shouldn’t know what his brother looks or sounds like when he’s about to come, but he shouldn’t be the one bringing him to that brink, shouldn’t be the one whose cock is driving into him over and over, so it doesn’t really matter, does it? 

“Say it,” he grits out, almost a growl, and Liam tips his head back, throat all Noel’s for the taking. And he does, leans forwards and bites at it, and Liam whimpers. 

“Yours, Noel,” he gasps, as Noel’s lips travel around Liam’s throat, licking and sucking and biting wherever he sees fit. “All yours.” And then he’s coming, choking on his breath as he does, tightening around Noel, and Noel forces himself to keep his eyes open and watch Liam’s pink cheeks, full lips, dark lashes as he thrusts one, two, three more times and then he’s coming too, legs trembling with the force of it, hard and deep inside his brother, marking him as his. Liam comes down a few seconds before Noel, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath and watches Noel come, clenches around him and makes him groan lowly, resting his head against Liam’s shoulder as his cock kicks out one final spurt of come. 

“Shit,” he mumbles into Liam’s sweaty skin, and Liam laughs breathlessly. 

“Was that good?” he says, that edge of hesitant eagerness still colouring his tone, and Noel’s heart tugs, makes him lift his head from Liam’s shoulder and smile up at him. 

“‘Course,” he says softly. “You always are.” Liam beams at him, eyes crinkled at the corners, and Noel can’t help himself, gets on his tiptoes so he can lean up far enough to press a quick, tired kiss to Liam’s lips. 

“Come on,” he says, patting Liam’s arse. “You need to shower.” Liam’s too fucked-out to argue, just makes a long, drawn-out sound of irritation, but puts one leg down on the floor, lets Noel pull his softening cock out, and then puts the other leg down, wincing at the movement. 

“So do you,” he says, nodding at Noel, who brings a slightly shaky hand up to his hair to feel it curling against his forehead, damp with sweat. 

“Be quick, then,” Noel says, because Liam’s already halfway to the bathroom, and he can almost hear Liam rolling his eyes. 

“I’ll take as long as I need,” he says, and Noel tuts, walking to the bedside table to get some tissues and wiping at the mixture of his and Liam’s come staining him all the way from his chest to his thighs. 

“You won’t get breakfast if you’re not quick,” Noel calls after him, and he can see from the split second of hesitation in Liam’s posture that he’s got him. 

“I’ll just go without you,” Liam retorts, and then slams the bathroom door shut before Noel has a chance to respond. Noel just sighs as loudly as possible, knowing Liam can hear him, and tosses the mucky tissues in the bin. As he’s about to flop back down onto the bed, though, the bathroom door opens again, and Liam sticks his head out. 

“Want to shower with me?” he asks, and Noel looks over at him suspiciously. 

“You’re not going to try and drown me, are you?” he asks, and Liam just grins innocently. 

“You’ll have to find out,” he says. Noel can’t help the way his lips twitch in a tiny smile. 

“Go on, then,” he says, and Liam opens the door a little wider, a happy smile on his face. 

“You can blow me, then, too,” he adds, and Noel laughs this time, shaking his head as he squeezes past Liam into the bathroom. Oh, to have the refractory period of a nineteen-year-old again.

“You’re fucking insatiable,” he says, but it’s not a no. 

\-------

“So,” Liam says, through a mouthful of pancakes and over a plate piled high with eggs, croissants, hash browns, sausages, beans, and even black pudding. “What’re we doing today?” Noel throws him a disdainful look. 

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” he says. Liam takes an exaggerated bite out of a sausage and chews it with his mouth open, the fucking pig, and Noel glares at him. “You’re fucking disgusting,” he tells him, and Liam swallows and grins at him. 

“So?” he prompts. Noel shrugs, taking a bite out of his own sausage. 

“Dunno,” he says. “What d’you wanna do?” 

“I wanna go to the Eiffel Tower,” Liam says decisively. Noel shrugs again, and mulls it over as he chews. They sort of have to go to the Eiffel Tower, don’t they? You can’t really go to Paris and  _ not _ go to the Eiffel Tower. 

“Alright,” he says. 

“And I wanna go to the Louvre,” Liam says. Noel frowns. 

“Why?” 

“Wanna see the Mona Lisa.” Noel can’t help but laugh incredulously at that, and Liam scowls. 

“You? You wanna see the fucking Mona Lisa?” Noel says, and Liam’s scowl deepens, brow furrowing as he pouts. 

“Why not?” 

“What the fuck do you know about art?” 

“Who said I need to know anything about art?” Liam says defensively. “You don’t either.”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t the one that said I wanted to see the Mona Lisa, was I?” Liam huffs, and takes a petulant bite out of a croissant. 

“I want to go,” he says stubbornly. Noel laughs again, shaking his head as he reaches for his coffee.

“Alright, Saatchi,” he says, grinning at Liam’s furious scowl as he blows onto the hot liquid. “We’ll go see the fucking Mona Lisa, then.” 

\-------

“She’s a bit small, innit?” 

“Yeah.” Noel cocks his head and gets on his tiptoes, trying to get a better view through the crowd. “Go on, give us your best critique then, since you’re a fucking art connoisseur now.” Liam shoves two fingers up at him, but he’s smiling, hears that Noel’s just taking the piss. 

“Well, of course, this is painted on the back of a cereal box, which adds  _ depth _ and  _ texture, _ ” Liam says solemnly, and Noel snorts, can’t help himself, and three people in the vicinity send Liam dirty looks, which just encourages him to speak louder- “The finger-painting technique employed by Da Vinci really accentuates Mona Lisa’s  _ massive tits, _ and-” 

“Really!” a woman to their left tuts, and Liam just cackles gleefully. 

“I mean her tits, man,” Liam continues loudly. “Just makes me want to-”

“Excuse me!” a man in front of them says, turning around with an incensed expression on his face. “This is a  _ masterpiece. _ Have some  _ respect. _ ” Liam snorts derisively, and turns away from the guy to face Noel. 

“Fuck this,” he says. “Let’s go look at them statues with the tiny willies.” Noel can’t help but choke out a laugh at the smattering of tuts and dirty looks that follow them as they leave, and Liam grins, skipping out of the room ahead of Noel. 

“Sir, this is a one way-” Noel hears a voice begin in heavily accented English - Christ, are they that obviously British? - but both of them choose to ignore it and walk into the throng of people advancing in their direction, Liam throwing a few choice words at the crowd as they push through them. He’s fucking unbelievable, Noel thinks, doesn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything, but finds himself smiling fondly at Liam’s back as he leans over the rope cordoning off a white marble statue from tourists’ grubby fingers. 

“Eeyar,” Liam calls, and Noel raises his eyebrows, strolls over. Liam points at the statue’s small dick. 

“Looks like yours,” he says, and Noel cuffs him upside the head. 

“Cheeky cunt,” he says, and then sidles in a little closer, so the family of four on the left hand side of the statue won’t hear them, and says: “Didn’t have any complaints this morning, did you?” He’s close enough to hear when Liam swallows, and leans back, satisfied with the response. 

“Fuck off,” Liam says, and Noel just raises his eyebrows and grins at him, and ambles over to the next statue, knowing Liam’s going to follow. Liam lingers at the statue for a minute, like he’s struggling with himself, trying to do the opposite of what he wants to do, but then instinct wins out and he heads over to where Noel’s pretending to closely examine a bronze statue of some bloke with a truncheon. 

“How do they come up with this shit?” Liam asks, coming up behind Noel and resting his chin on his shoulder. Innocuous enough, Noel tells himself. He does it back home all the time. “D’you reckon they just wake up in the morning and go ‘today, right, I’m gonna carve some bloke wielding a fucking rounders bat’, or does someone commission it?”

“Dunno,” Noel says, turning his head and leaning back a little, enough that he’s got a good view of Liam frowning at the statue. 

“If I were rich I’d commission shit like this, I reckon,” Liam says, waving a hand at the statue. “See how much fucking ridiculous shit people would make for me if I paid ‘em. Get myself a statue of a fucking cow giving birth, and that.” Noel huffs out a laugh. 

“Where would you put it?” he asks. 

“In my mansion,” Liam says carelessly, like he’s thought this all through. “Cow giving birth goes in the kitchen, right, ‘cause then I’ll remember I want a burger every time I go in, and the lampshade in the shape of my head goes in the hallway.” 

“You don’t need two big heads,” Noel tells him, and laughs when Liam scowls after the two seconds it takes to sink in. 

“Dick,” Liam grumbles, but he wraps both arms around Noel’s waist, pulling him flush against him. Noel should push him away, can’t help the automatic wave of alarm that rises up in him like bile and the quick, panicked glances he sends at the people milling around the rest of the room, but, as though he can sense it, Liam tightens his grip around Noel’s waist, and presses a soft kiss to his cheek. 

“We’re in Paris,” he says, for what must be the millionth time since they arrived. Noel’s going to buy him a fucking thesaurus for Christmas. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Noel grumbles, but he brings his hands up to thread through Liam’s hands, clasped at his front, and tilts his head into Liam’s as they stand in silence looking at the statue that’s survived all these thousands of years, a monument to a civilisation long gone. 

(Noel wonders whether the monuments of their love will survive like that, too, whether the words and melodies he jots down with a full and aching heart in the middle of the night will be sung out generation after generation, testament to what should never have been but always was.) 

\-------

They get dinner at some café that Liam takes a fancy to because of the fucking chairs, but Noel’s not in the mood to do anything more than scoff and make one or two derisive comments as he trails inside behind Liam, too eager to eat. The place is a fucking rip off, as far as Noel can tell - forty francs for a sandwich sounds fucking extortionate - but the food really is good, and Liam’s happy stirring his tea and chatting about nothing in particular. Noel just hums along, lets him fill the ebbing and flowing silence with his inane thoughts, half-listening to the bullshit coming out of his mouth and half just watching him speak, the way his eyebrows move, the way his eyes go hard and dark and then suddenly clear and bright again, the way he gesticulates with the spoon in his hand when he’s particularly incensed about something. 

Liam wants an ice cream for dessert, but Noel puts his foot down, knowing all too well that Liam in a thin coat, a cool afternoon and an ice cream are a recipe for hours of whining and moaning about how cold it is, Noel, give us your coat, you’re not even using it, you’re too small to get cold, innit? Liam’s not happy about it, throws a bit of a tantrum, but Noel just waits it out and threatens not to take him to the Eiffel Tower when he stomps away, making him hesitate for a moment before stomping right back and calling Noel a cunt in the most vicious tone he can muster. 

By the time they get to the Eiffel Tower, though, Liam’s perked right back up again, a spring in his step as he says  _ d’you reckon we’ll be able to see all of Paris up there? D'you think people in planes’ll be able to see us?  _

“I don’t know,” Noel says, as Liam hops impatiently from foot to foot in the queue for tickets. “Stop fucking fidgeting, Christ.” 

“I’m not fidgeting,” Liam protests. 

“You are.” 

“I’m just fucking standing, what d’you want me to do?”

“Stand still.” Liam scowls. 

“I am."

“You’re not.” They take a step forward as someone leaves the queue.

“The fucking Eiffel Tower, man,” Liam says, gazing up at it as he shoves his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his heels. “Mental.” Noel grits his teeth; Liam’s vibrating with energy, absolutely fucking buzzing with it, and it’s getting on his tits.

“Fucking stop it,” he snaps, and Liam glares at him. 

“I’m not doing anything,” he says, and Noel looks pointedly down at his feet, still rocking back and forth. 

“Just fucking stand still, Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “You’re fucking nineteen, not nine.” 

“Why?” Liam demands, and bounces up and down a little harder, jaw set in a challenge. 

“It’s fucking annoying,” Noel tells him, staring steadfastly ahead of them. 

“I’m arsed.” Noel’s teeth clench further, and Liam starts humming, blinking up at the Eiffel Tower again. 

“How old is it?” he asks, as they take another step forward in the queue. One more person, Noel tells himself. One more person, and then he can buy their tickets, drag Liam away from the mother and two kids that are behind them and deck him. 

“Do I look like I know?” Liam shrugs. 

“You’re the one that’s been to Paris before,” he says. 

“Yeah, with the fucking Inspirals,” Noel says. “D’you know how many fucking drugs I was on?"

“We should’ve brought some,” Liam says regretfully. 

“Drugs?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah, we should’ve.” Liam would probably be a lot easier to deal with if Noel was coked up to his eyeballs. 

“Reckon we could get some?” Noel snorts. 

“Oh, yeah, what’s your plan, then? Go up to random French people and say  _ excusez-moi, avez-vous les drugs?” _ Liam scowls. 

“Just wait ‘til we sniff out some weed,” he says, “and ask ‘em where they got it.”

“You want to sit under the Eiffel Tower sniffing anyone that walks past with a fag in their hand?” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Liam says irritably, and Noel laughs, making Liam’s brow furrow further. There’s nothing like pissing Liam off to brighten Noel’s mood. 

The couple in front of them step away from the counter, so Noel steps forward and listens to the guy at the counter start to describe all the various ticket options to them. Liam lingers on the spot for a moment, shielding his eyes from the afternoon sun as he looks up at the Eiffel Tower again, until Noel turns and calls over his shoulder: “Eeyar, our kid.” 

“What?” Liam says, glancing over at Noel, who tilts his head, indicating  _ come here. _ Liam does, ambles over and shoves his hands back in his pocket, and stops just short of the counter. 

“You got ID on you?” Noel asks, and Liam nods, pulling his right hand out of the pocket of his jeans and reaching for his coat pocket instead. 

“What for?” he asks, as he’s getting his wallet out.

“Youth ticket,” Noel says, and Liam’s fingers falter on his provisional license as he scowls. 

“I’m nineteen,” he says. 

“It’s up to twenty-four,” the guy behind the counter supplies helpfully. Liam frowns, and Noel watches him do the maths in his head - Noel’s twenty-five, so too old for a youth ticket, and Liam’s nineteen, so too young for an adult ticket, so too young for Noel. 

“I want an adult ticket,” Liam says, the inevitable conclusion of his train of thought. 

“You can pay for it, then,” Noel says smartly, and Liam’s scowl deepens. Jesus Christ, he’s such a fucking child, sometimes. 

“Fine,” Liam snaps, and slams his provisional on the counter. The guy looks a little taken aback, but Noel doesn’t even have it in him to apologise on Liam’s behalf, just tuts loudly and shakes his head. 

“Would you like lift access or stairs?” the guy asks politely, shooting Liam a slightly nervous look. 

“What d’you want?” Noel says, turning to Liam. 

“Lift.” Noel shrugs, and turns back to the guy behind the counter, who nods, and starts printing two tickets. 

“Hang on,” Liam says, and points at something behind the guy. “Can I get one of them?” It’s a disposable camera, and Noel frowns. 

“What d’you want that for?”

“For taking pictures, what the fuck d’you think?”

“Of what?”

“Of the sights.” Noel raises an eyebrow at him, and Liam holds his gaze, jaw set, a stubborn look in his eyes. 

“Alright,” Noel relents. “But only of the sights.” Liam grins, and the guy, who’s been watching this exchange with a look of trepidation on his face, reaches behind him and grabs one of the disposable cameras to hand to Liam. 

“Three hundred and ninety francs, please,” he says, and Noel throws Liam a meaningful glare as he slaps a bunch of notes down on the counter. The cunt better be grateful for this. Liam, though, is too preoccupied with his new toy, looking through the viewfinder with a squinted eye, and steps back from the ticket counter, leaning back and snapping a picture of the Eiffel Tower. 

“C’mon,” Noel says when he’s collected his change and thrown a thank-you in the guy’s direction, bumping his shoulder into Liam’s as he walks past. “Let’s fucking go up, then.” Liam nods, pocketing the camera, and ambles along behind Noel, still looking up at the huge iron structure towering over them. 

“D’you reckon it’s safe?” he asks, as Noel starts trying to find the right queue for them - is that the stairs, or the lift? It’s the lift, right, that way then- oh, no, wait, that’s the lift for the way down. Jesus Christ, would it kill the French to write signs in other languages? 

“Bit late to worry about that,” Noel says, finally spotting the right roped-off queue and turning sharply to head to it, knocking into Liam who’s still walking forwards. 

“Watch it,” Liam grumbles, but he turns and follows Noel to the queue for the lift, jogging a little to catch up with him. “Is it gonna be cold up there?” 

“How would I know?” Noel says, a little irritably , as he hands their tickets over to the guard checking them. 

“Just fucking _asking,_ ” Liam mutters darkly, and the guard waves them through to get into the little lift. It looks _ancient,_ and Noel suddenly thinks Liam might have a point - how fucking old _is_ this thing? _Is_ it safe? He doesn’t have enough time to worry about it, though, because they’re being ushered into the lift, crammed together in the tiny room. A tour guide starts announcing things as they go up, but it’s in French and Noel can only catch the odd ‘le’ or ‘ne’, so he gives up trying to listen and just pushes past a couple whispering in what sounds like German to get to the view outside. He can’t really see much, but watches the ground get further away as people jostle uncomfortably around him, until they’re all pushing against each other trying to get out of the lift. Liam’s already out by the time Noel gets to the door, pointing at a sign that’s telling them they need to get on another lift if they want to get to the top floor. 

“Don’t you want to look out here first?” Noel says, and Liam shakes his head. Impatient little bastard. 

“What’s the point?” he says. “Might as well get the proper view, innit?” Noel sighs, exasperated, but makes a  _ go on, then  _ gesture and Liam beelines for the second lift, which is currently letting people on. 

It’s the same as the first lift, except Noel and Liam both stand by the windows this time, peering out to see the roads getting smaller and smaller, the people starting to blur into the pavements as they get higher and higher. The plastic of the windows is a little translucent with age, though, makes everything fuzzy once they reach a certain height, and Noel leans back, doesn’t want to spoil the view, wants to be able to savour it when he gets out onto the viewing platform. Liam doesn’t, of course, gets on his tiptoes and cranes his neck to try and look past the discoloured plastic, so preoccupied with his determination to see out of the window that he doesn’t even realise they’re being let off the lift until Noel nudges him with his elbow and tips his head in the direction of the door. 

It is sort of cold when they get out, making Noel huddle into himself and nose into the collar of his coat as he heads to the edge of the viewing platform, gazing out over the side. It’s breathtaking, really, the distance he can see, a huge green rectangle directly below them flanked by white buildings and organised blocks of housing. He squints, trying to see as far as he can, but it’s a little overcast and he can’t make out quite as much as he’d like to. It’s still beautiful, though, if oddly so, especially when he walks to the next gap in people and sees the Seine snaking through the city below him, blue-green and littered with bridges. He can see the people the clearest there, tiny little dots bobbing to and fro across the bridges, and it makes his heart clench slightly, something overwhelming about the fact he’s watching all these people, hundreds of thousands of lives mapped out below him. 

He’s startled out of his reverie by a click, and he whips to his left to see Liam standing there, camera in his hand. 

“What the fuck did I say?” Noel says sharply, and makes to grab the camera out of his hand. Not that it’ll make much difference, given it’s a disposable, but it’s the principle of the matter. Liam, though, holds it up and out of his reach, and shakes his head. 

“You’re a sight,” he says, and he sounds so sincere about it that Noel stops mid-stretch, trying to reach the camera. 

“Get to fuck,” he says, but his words don’t have the venom to them that he’d like them to have. Liam just grins at him, knowing he’s going to get away with it, and tucks the camera into his pocket. 

“At least look at the fucking view,” Noel says, gesturing out at the edge of the viewing platform. “I didn’t pay nearly four hundred francs for you to stand two metres away.” Liam rolls his eyes but sidles up to the railing, putting his arms on it and leaning over. Noel, having already had his fill of the view, watches Liam instead, watches the way his eyes flicker from building to building, sometimes latching onto a person and following their journey across a bridge before flitting to another building, watches his lips part and eyes widen in wonder. God, Noel’s dangerously far gone on this boy, shouldn’t be at the top of the fucking Eiffel Tower and find nothing better to look at than Liam. 

“That’s fucking mega,” Liam says, and Noel huffs out a laugh, joining him at the railing, their arms pressed together. 

“Yeah,” he says, looking back out at the river. Liam sighs contentedly, like this is all his weird little heart has ever wanted, and rests his head on Noel’s shoulder. 

“The Eiffel fucking Tower, man,” he says, a little dreamily, and Noel laughs again, fonder this time, and rests his cheek on the top of Liam’s head. 

“Aye,” he says, and leaves it at that. 

They gaze out at the view in front of them for a while, both lost in their own thoughts, watching the lives of people who don’t know they’re being watched unfold beneath them, something oddly beautiful in the anonymity of it. Noel wonders whether he and Liam had been watched when they were holding hands along the Seine, or whether anyone’s eyes had been straying over their hotel when they’d been fucking, blissfully unaware of what they were witnessing. It makes him feel oddly giddy, strangely free, that they could do as they fucking please and people could see them and wouldn’t give them a second glance. So much of Noel’s life is spent trying to hide, his glances or his touches or his feelings, always hyper-aware of who’s looking at him and Liam and who isn’t, and here in Paris, no Bonehead or Paul or Mam to see an errant look between the two of them and  _ know, _ is the first time he’s felt that weight lift off his chest. The cool air at the top of the Eiffel Tower feels like the first air he’s ever properly breathed, and he inhales deeply, letting his eyes flutter shut as he just gives himself over to it completely, the breeze stealing over his face and ruffling his hair. 

Liam seems to sense the shift in Noel’s mood, leans further into him and wraps an arm around his waist, fingers curling around the curve there somewhere between protectively and possessively. He squeezes, a little  _ I’m here _ gesture that Noel knows all too well, and it wells up inside him, all the years of loving Liam. From childhood, innocent protective instinct that was fiercer and stronger than it ever had been with Paul, to adolescence, irritation and desire to kick Liam’s head in fiercer and stronger than it ever had been with Paul, to adulthood, realising that all of that wrapped together into one when Liam blinked at him one night with hooded eyes and said  _ kiss me. _

_ You’re insane, _ Noel had spat, but his voice had been shaking when the words had come out.  _ You’re fucking delusional. We’re brothers, Liam.  _

_ So? _ Liam had said, with an easy shrug, like it was that simple. 

It’s always been easier for Liam than it has been for Noel. Noel’s the older brother, the one who should have known better, the one who should have been responsible and pushed Liam back every time he tried to steal another kiss or snake his hand between their legs to get to Noel’s dick. He should never have let Liam get on his knees, shouldn’t have let him spread his legs, shouldn’t have let him blink sleepily up at him in the early hours of the morning and say  _ I love you _ in that raw, candid way that made Noel’s breath catch in his throat. He should have taken responsibility for the both of them, because Liam had learnt his morals in a twisted world, watching Noel take hit after hit so Liam wouldn’t have to. Sometimes Noel wondered whether that was partially why Liam never cared about laws or social etiquette, never even bothered to take a moment to consider them, which meant Noel had his work cut out for him trying to keep the two of them under wraps. Liam’s always hated being caged in like they are, always been the one to take risks, sinking to his knees in the ginnel between the pub and old Mr Thompson’s house or pressing a quick kiss to Noel’s lips in front of Bonehead, Tony and Guigs when he agreed to join the band. Noel’s never had the time to really think too hard about how much he wants the freedom, too caught up in trying to make sure they don’t go to fucking jail, but here, at the top of the fucking world, he realises he wants it just as badly as Liam, maybe even more.

So, with an aching heart and dry throat, he turns in Liam’s grip, making him look over at Noel in surprise, and before he has the time to second-guess himself, leans forwards and presses a kiss to Liam’s lips. Liam makes a noise of astonishment, because this is the  _ last _ fucking thing either of them would ever expect Noel to do, but immediately kisses back, soft and warm and pliant under Noel’s touch. Noel brings his hands up to Liam’s jaw, pulling him closer, desperation leaking into the edges of the kiss, and Liam parts his lips, knowing what he wants. Noel takes it, tilts his head to get a better angle, and Liam pulls him closer as their tongues slide together, custom-made to fit. It makes Noel feel higher than he ever has before, kissing his brother in public, at the top of the Eiffel Tower for anyone in Paris to look up and see, and he kisses Liam deeper, slower, making him sigh a little into the kiss. He strokes his thumb along Liam’s jaw as Liam goes completely lax under him, a mutual recognition of  _ you’re mine  _ and  _ I’m yours _ that forms the very foundation of their relationship, and it makes Noel so breathless that he has to break the kiss, rest his forehead against Liam’s and try not to be blinded by his brilliant grin. 

“What was that for?” Liam asks, and he sounds so happy, words curved upwards by his grin. Noel can’t help himself - when the fuck else is he going to be able to do this and pass unseen, people just walking past without a second glance? - and presses his lips to Liam’s again, softer this time, gentle and chaste. It’s the most tender kiss he’s ever given Liam, he thinks, just the two of them suspended in a moment of time above Paris. Noel thinks the whole city must be lit up by the fire in his heart and in Liam’s soul right now, set alight by the edge of bitterness to the sweetness of the kiss as they both cling to each other, knowing this will likely be the first and last time they’ll be able to have one another like this, outside of four walls and a window with the curtains drawn. 

When they break apart again, they don’t move an inch. Liam smiles at Noel, and Noel presses a soft kiss to his forehead, lips lingering there as he closes his eyes and inhales, trying to fill himself with Liam. Liam’s arms curve up from Noel’s waist to his shoulder blades, pulling him in for a tight hug, and Noel returns the favour, lets his hands slip from Liam’s face to wrap around his shoulders, burying his face in Liam’s throat. He can feel Liam’s pulse beating slow and steady against his cheek, knows his own is in sync without even needing to check, and he presses one last kiss to Liam’s neck, relishing the way he hears Liam’s heart rate speed up. 

Noel steps back, lets his hands drop from Liam’s shoulders to his waist, and drinks him in, the broad, brilliant smile almost splitting his face in half, the way his eyes are lit up with unbridled joy and love, crinkled at the corners with lines that seem to spell out  _ Noel  _ and  _ love _ and  _ happy. _

“You’re getting soft, you,” Liam says, but the words are gentle, private, and Noel huffs out a laugh. 

“Don’t get used to it,” he warns, and squeezes Liam’s waist one last time before stepping away. Liam doesn’t chase him, knows not to push his luck when Noel’s just given him more than he’s ever asked for, just smiles serenely at him like he’s the only thing he can see. 

“‘S a great view, isn’t it?” Noel says, turning back to face the railing again. Liam just hums, eyes following Noel as he goes, still smiling. 

“Yeah, s’pose,” he says. 

“S’pose?” Noel echoes, and throws him a look. “You were the one gagging to come up here.”

“Yeah, well,” Liam says, with a shrug, like Noel hasn’t just spent nearly four hundred francs getting them up here only for Liam to look at the view for all of five minutes. “Better things to look at.” Noel rolls his eyes. 

“Get to fuck,” he says, and Liam grins, leans back and pulls the disposable camera out of his pocket. 

“Smile,” he says, raising it to his eyes, and Noel scoffs, reaching for the camera as it clicks, and Liam laughs, bouncing backwards and taking more and more shots as Noel advances towards him, saying  _ stop it, you cunt, I mean it, give me that  _ with his own grin on his face. 

“You’re gonna fucking run out of shots,” Noel tells him, making one final grab for the camera, but Liam’s too quick for him, ducks out of his grasp and takes another picture. 

“So?” 

“ _ So, _ I fucking paid for that camera,” Noel says. “Wasn’t meant to be for you to take three hundred pictures of my fucking hand in front of the lens.” Liam shrugs, and brings the camera down to his chest. 

“Take a picture with me, then,” he says. 

“What?”

“C’mon.” He leans back against the railing, and beckons for Noel to join. “Let’s take a picture in front of the view.” 

“Have you even got any fucking shots left?” Liam looks down at the camera. 

“Two,” he says, and Noel lets out an exasperated sigh. Great. He’s just spent sixty francs on about twenty-five fucking pictures of his blurry hand trying to snatch the camera away from Liam. 

“Alright,” Noel relents, because their mam’ll be pleased if they take a picture where they at least look like they’re getting on. She’ll probably frame it, show it to all the relatives when they come round -  _ look, that’s our Noel and our Liam, look how they’re getting on. Noel took Liam to Paris, you know.  _ Took him to Paris, kissed him in Paris, fucked him in Paris, but she doesn’t need to know that. 

“Well, c’mon then,” Liam says impatiently, and Noel rolls his eyes but steps up to Liam, slips an arm around his waist so they can both fit in the frame. Liam holds the camera up, far enough away that it’ll get their faces and the background in, and Noel schools his face into what he hopes is an acceptable attempt at a smile, face dropping as soon as he hears the click. He makes to step away, but Liam’s body moves with him, and he shakes his head. 

“I’ve only got one shot left,” he says. 

“So? That’s your own fault.” 

“Can I have one for me? Of us?” Noel hesitates. He knows what Liam means by that.

“And where the fuck d’you think you’re going to get that developed, eh?” he says. “Waltz into SnappySnaps and hand it to, whatshisface, that bloke you used to score weed off-”

“James.”

“Yeah, James. They’ll all be useless if you take one like that.” 

“I’ll take it to Bolton,” Liam says. Noel shakes his head. He knows at least fifteen people in Bolton. “Liverpool?” Liam tries. 

“No,” Noel says. “What if we make it one day? The band, y’know?” 

“What if we do?” Liam says defensively. 

“Someone out there’ll know.” Liam scoffs.

“Will they fuck,” he says. “How many pictures do they develop in a day?” He’s got a point. Still, though. Kissing on top of the Eiffel Tower is one thing, riddled with plausible deniability, but material evidence of it? What the fuck does Liam think he’s going to do with that, stick it in his photo album?  _ Here’s me on my first day of school, here’s me and my mate monged to fuck, here’s me snogging my big brother- _ That’s just not going to work. 

“I’m not asking you to suck my dick, Christ,” Liam says, seeing the conflict as it flashes across Noel’s face. “‘S just a kiss. Brotherly, and that.” Noel raises an eyebrow. 

“When’s the last time you kissed Paul?” Liam pulls a face. 

“That’s different, innit?” he says. 

“Is it?” 

“Look, are you going to do it, or not?” Liam says, patience for the conversation exhausted. “I’ll fucking develop it myself if I have to.” Noel raises his other eyebrow, and Liam raises his own in an irritated  _ what, you prick? _ sort of way. 

“Fine,” Noel says, with a long-suffering sigh, just so Liam knows what this is costing him. At least three weeks of Noel doing whatever the fuck he likes with Liam, he thinks. “But you’re taking them to fucking Liverpool, you understand?” Liam grins, and slips an arm around Noel’s waist, pulling him in closer. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, and raises the camera again. “C’mon.” Noel sighs again, lets out all the breath in his lungs and closes his eyes for a brief moment - he’s really going to fucking snog his brother on camera, Jesus Christ - and then turns in Liam’s grip, nudges Liam’s waist with the hand he has around it to get him to do the same. Liam does, twists in Noel’s arm and stands to face him, so close their chests are almost touching, and blinks down at him with a smile. 

“If you fucking tell me to say cheese,” Noel warns, and Liam laughs, small and pretty, and bends down a little, just enough that if Noel leans up a little their lips will be touching. 

“Excuse me,” someone says, and they jump apart as though they’d been burnt, a shock of adrenaline coursing through Noel so quickly and ferociously that his vision swims. A guy is standing in front of them, gesturing at the camera in Liam’s hand. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. D’you want me to take that?” 

“What?” Noel says, heart racing, thoughts still stuck in  _ someone knows, someone fucking knows, someone’s seen us and they know.  _

“I did one like that with my wife,” the guy says, as Liam’s hand drops to his side. “Turned out shite because we had to guess where to hold the camera, just got our foreheads in.” Noel blinks at him, trying to process what’s going on. Does he know? Has he seen their eyes and guessed? Is he going to take the picture, then leg it out of the Eiffel Tower and hand it over to the police? Brothers kiss all the time, though, right? And allegedly it’s legal here, so they’d be fine. But maybe they’d hand it over to the British police, right, since they’re British citizens, and all? Noel’s not sure exactly where the line is drawn for incest in the UK, but he’s pretty sure a snog at the top of the Eiffel Tower will at the very least get tongues wagging. 

“Yeah,” Liam says, before Noel has the chance to open his mouth and manage a  _ no, fuck off, can’t you see you’re interrupting a cheeky bit of incest?  _ “Cheers, mate.” He hands the camera over, and the guy makes a  _ no worries _ sort of gesture, and raises the viewfinder to his eye. Liam turns in Noel’s grasp again, and Noel glares at him, hoping he’s conveying  _ are you fucking serious  _ in at least five different ways. 

“What?” Liam says defensively, and brings his other hand up to Noel’s waist too, fingers curling around his hip. “C’mon, don’t waste the bloke’s time.” 

“You’re a fucking dick,” Noel hisses. 

“Yeah. And? C’mon.” Noel jerks his head away when Liam leans in to kiss him, and Liam rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh, like Noel’s the problem here, not him. 

“What?” he says, annoyed. “You said you’d do it.” 

“You’re pushing your fucking luck,” Noel tells him, the closest he can get to saying  _ you’re just going to let there be a witness to this crime?  _ Liam just tuts and pulls Noel closer by his hips. 

“Yeah, and? What’s new?” he says carelessly. He’s fucking impossible. “ _ C’mon _ , Noel. ‘S just for me, innit? Liverpool, I swear.” He sends Noel a meaningful look, and Noel glares back, their gazes glued together by the heat of Noel’s irritation. 

“Fine,” he snaps, because the only other way this could end is in him chucking Liam off the Eiffel Tower, and he’s pretty sure their mam would be less upset about the incest than Liam dying. He tilts his head up defiantly, and Liam blinks down at him and shakes his head. 

“Not like that,” he says. “C’mon, Noely. Do it proper, like.” 

“Don’t call me that,” Noel says sharply, but it works, because it always does. He closes his eyes, inhales deeply and exhales heavily, letting the air leaving his lungs slacken his features on its way out. It won’t be too bad, he tells himself. It’s just a kiss. Brothers kiss all the time, right? At least, these ones do. 

“Alright,” he says lowly, not even caring about the guy that’s still hovering in front of them, looking torn between awkwardness and intrigue at the show he’s getting to watch. “Let’s just fucking get this over with.” Liam nods, and Noel brings his hand up to Liam’s jaw, thumb stroking across the rough skin there. The boy needs to shave more often, Noel thinks, has a perpetual five o’clock shadow, but Noel likes the feeling of it under his fingertips, the way that it sets his nerves on fire because it’s so masculine, so Liam. Noel was the one who’d taught him to shave, after all, so maybe it’s his fault. 

Liam tilts his head a little, smiling softly at Noel, eyes full with a fierce love, like he’s challenging Noel to question it, and Noel can’t help the way his lips twitch a little in response as his heart floods his veins with warmth. 

“Ready?” the guy says, and Liam hums. “Alright.” Noel blinks at Liam again, and uses the hand on his jaw to bring him in closer, tipping his own head to the left. Always the left, and it makes something delicious zing through Noel whenever he thinks about it, because Liam doesn’t even think about it, desire to be good for Noel overriding his natural instinct to tilt to the right. 

It feels strangely electrifying when their lips finally touch, although it’s a sweet, chaste kiss, all lip and no tongue. They’ve never done this in front of anyone before - well, bar about ten minutes ago, but they’ve never done it in front of someone who was  _ looking _ before. It feels oddly heady, makes Noel’s stomach flip as he thinks  _ this guy doesn’t even know what he’s seeing _ and  _ Liam’s mine, someone knows that Liam’s mine _ and, somewhere in the depths of it all,  _ I love you. _ One of Liam’s hands has found its way to the nape of Noel’s neck, fingers curled lightly in the hair there, and it makes Noel push closer, lips moving softly against Liam’s, trying to take as much of him as is socially acceptable in front of a stranger.

There’s a click, and Noel vaguely thinks  _ that’s it, pull away,  _ but he can’t help lingering a moment longer, savouring the last vestiges of the moment, before Liam pulls back and turns to the guy, smiling at him. 

“Cheers,” he says, holding his hand out, and for a split second Noel looks at Liam’s outstretched hand and the camera still clutched to the guy’s chest and thinks  _ shit, shit, shit, _ and then the guy smiles back and hands the camera over. 

“No problem,” the guy says, as Liam’s fingers curl around the camera, safely back in his possession. “That’ll be a nice one for the photo album.” He throws them one final smile and then walks off, and Noel can’t help but snort bitterly as he watches him leave.

“Yeah, one for the photo album,” he mutters under his breath, and turns back to Liam. “Right, are you fucking done being a cunt now?” 

“Who says I was being a cunt?” Liam says, zipping the camera into one of his coat pockets and nosing into the collar of it. “I’m cold.” 

“That’s your own fault,” Noel says derisively, and turns back to the view, just for something to look at that isn’t Liam. His heart’s beating wildly now, like it’s just caught up to the situation at hand, mind racing as he thinks  _ shit, maybe I should just chuck the fucking camera off the Eiffel Tower. No, then someone might pick it up and develop it and see. I’ll burn it. Does the hotel room have matches? Shit, why the fuck did I just do that? Am I fucking stupid? _

“Hey,” Liam says, and puts a hand on Noel’s forearm, and Noel turns to see him frowning down at Noel. 

“What?” Noel snaps. 

“What’s your problem?” Liam says, caught somewhere between indignance and concern. Noel pulls his arm out of Liam’s grip sharply. 

“We just kissed in front of a fucking stranger,” he bites out. “On camera.” 

“Yeah?” 

“What the fuck d’you mean, ‘yeah’?” Noel demands, warming up to his fear and embarrassment and letting it mix together to create anger. Liam rolls his eyes and folds his arms. 

“No one’s going to fucking know,” he says curtly. “D’you remember every stranger you’ve ever helped in your life?” 

“I don’t help strangers.” 

“Yeah, well, you’re a cunt,” Liam says, matter-of-fact. “He’s not going to remember us.” 

“And the photo? What’re you going to do with that, eh? Pin it on the fucking fridge?” 

“Keep it somewhere safe,” Liam says stubbornly, and Noel throws his hands up in frustration. 

“D’you know what would happen if someone found it?” he says. 

“We’re not going to jail for a fucking kiss,” Liam snaps. 

“D’you know that? D’you know the law?” 

“Do you?” Well, no, but that’s not the point, is it? 

“Just burn the camera,” Noel says. 

“Are you fucking mental? No, I want the pictures.” 

“Of what, my fucking hand? Piss off. Burn it.” Liam looks at him for a moment, blue eyes hard and searching Noel’s, and Noel does his very best to keep the fear churning in his stomach from leaking into the edges of his irises. 

“Get fucked,” Liam says shortly, after a minute. “It’s my fucking camera, and I’m keeping the pictures.” 

“Who fucking paid for it?” 

“I don’t fucking care, it’s mine,” Liam says. Jesus, Noel thinks, as he brings his hand up to rub at his eyes. Sometimes it’s blindingly obvious Liam’s a youngest child. 

“I’m never taking you fucking anywhere again,” he tells Liam, who shrugs. 

“Fine,” he says. “You’ve been a dick the whole time, anyway.” 

“Jesus, what, because I don’t want to announce to the world that I’m-” Noel lowers his voice “-fucking my own brother? You’re fucking insane, you are.” Liam shrugs again, but his shoulders are a little hunched, drawn into himself in that way they do in the brief flash of hurt he gets before it turns to anger, and Noel can’t help but sigh. Liam’s sort of right, in a way. They’ve only got a weekend in Paris, and spending it fighting about what they can and can’t do in public is just a waste of fucking time. Noel’s also sort of right, though. They’ve still got to be careful, can’t just throw all reason out the window. This is the problem with them; they’re usually communicating on different wavelengths, both right and unable to see that the other isn’t disagreeing, just making a different point. 

“Fucking hell,” Noel mutters tiredly, and leans his forearms against the railing, tipping his head into his chest and closing his eyes. “You do my fucking head in, you know that?” He hears a hum from next to him, and feels an arm wrapping around his waist, squeezing it tightly. 

“Mm,” Liam says. “But you’re still here, aren’t you?” Noel huffs out a laugh. 

“S’pose.” 

\-------

They eat tea at some restaurant Liam picks out, and then he decides he wants to go to a bar, because  _ if we can’t get coke we might as well get boozed up, right? _ So, naturally, they go to a bar, because it’s Liam’s weekend, meaning he can have what he wants for these three days and then Noel will spend the next year and a half holding it over his head.

They drink overpriced beers that taste like shit, but it gives them something to complain about as they knock them back, and by the fifth one Noel’s almost doubled over with laughter at Liam’s impersonation of the guy at the bar side-eyeing Noel as he ordered his fourth pint. It makes Liam grin, makes his gesticulations more exaggerated and his voice louder, and the dirty looks they’re getting from the booth opposite them just make Noel laugh harder. Everything feels better with the slight buzz of alcohol in his veins, just enough to soften Liam’s edges, to smooth out his corners. 

“I’m getting another pint,” Noel says, when his last glass has been empty for at least ten minutes. “Want one?” 

“Yeah, go on,” Liam says - as if he would’ve said anything else - and Noel nods, heading up to the bar. It seems like there’s been a change of staff since the last time he went up - third pint, he made Liam get the last two so he could watch his arse as he walked off - because the bartender on this side is now a man who looks a little like Liam, slighter and not as pretty but not bad all the same. Noel puts his hand up and the barman nods, setting down the glass he’s been wiping and heading over to Noel.

“Two of them ones,” Noel says, resting one arm on the bar, and pointing the other at the tap they’ve been drinking from all night, and the barman nods again, reaching behind him for two glasses. 

“You are English?” he asks, in a strong French accent. 

“What, me? Yeah,” Noel says, stealing a glance back over at Liam, who’s lying with his head tipped back against the top of the booth, grinning inanely at the ceiling. It probably shouldn't make Noel grin fondly and shake his head, but it does, and he's too tipsy to care all too much about it. 

“I have been to England,” the barman tells him as he pulls one of the pints, and Noel nods, humming noncommittally. “It is a nice country.” Noel snorts. 

“Can’t’ve been to much of it, then,” he says, and the barman smiles. 

“Maybe I should go back,” he says. “Where do you suggest I go?”

“Manchester,” Noel says immediately. “Only place worth visiting. Best city in the fucking world.” 

“Is that where you are from?”

“Aye,” Noel says, as the barman puts the pint on the bar and slides it in Noel’s direction. “Cheers.”

“You are here alone?” Noel shakes his head, and tips it back in the general direction of the booths. 

“Nah,” he says. “With my brother.” The barman nods as he reaches for the second glass

“You are on holiday?” Well. Sort of. 

“Yeah, I guess,” Noel says. 

“Do you like Paris?” 

“Yeah,” Noel says. “‘S nice. Done the Louvre and the Eiffel Tower today. Not sure what else there is to do.” The barman’s smile turns a little coy.

“I could show you,” he offers, and before Noel has a chance to respond he’s being knocked to his right a little by Liam, an impatient expression on his face as he snakes a slightly-sweaty arm around Noel’s waist and pulls him in. 

“What’s taking you so fucking long?” Liam asks. 

“It’s been two fucking minutes,” Noel says, and indicates at the barman. “Just making polite conversation, you dick.” Liam turns to look at the barman, and Noel watches the expression on his face change from open, easy-going, relaxed, to tense, hard, tight. 

“Yeah, I bet you are,” Liam says, narrowing his eyes at the barman, and the barman stares back, a slight frown on his face. 

“This is your brother?” he asks Noel, eyes not straying from Liam. 

“Yeah,” Noel says, shaking his head. “Sorry about him. Hasn’t learnt basic manners yet.” The barman smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, which flit from Liam to Noel and back again as he sets the second pint down on the bar.

“Well,” he says, looking at Noel again. “I can give you my number, if you would like to take me up on my offer.” 

“What offer?” Liam demands. 

“To be shown around Paris,” Noel tells him, “and don’t be such a cunt.” Liam scowls, but directs it at the barman, not at Noel. 

“Think it’s more what he wants you to show him than anything,” he says derisively. 

“No need to be a twat,” Noel says sharply, and Liam’s hand tightens around Noel’s waist. 

“Thirty-seven francs,” the barman says, and Noel digs in his pocket for notes, and slams two twenties down on the bar as he offers the barman a polite smile. 

“Cheers,” he says, and pulls the other pint in front of Liam, ready to leave. Liam, though, doesn’t move, not even to grab his pint, still staring at the barman with a fierce expression on his face. 

“He’s taken,” he says. Noel whips around and stares at him. What the fuck?

“By you?” The barman speaks for the first time in a while, one eyebrow raised. 

“Yeah, so fuck off.” Liam lifts his chin defiantly, challenging the bartaker to take him up on it. 

“You are not brothers?” 

“No,” Noel says, at the same time that Liam says “Yeah.” 

“We’re  _ like _ brothers,” Noel says quickly, shooting Liam a glare. 

“He’s my older brother,” Liam continues, choosing to ignore Noel. “Five years older. Shared a room with him for sixteen years. And he’s mine.” 

“Jesus, are you fucking-” Noel starts, somewhere between outraged and shocked, but Liam seems to decide he’s had enough now and grabs his pint, lets his hand drop to the pocket of Noel’s jeans and rest in there, warm against Noel’s arse, and leans back from the bar. 

“Prick,” he throws at the barman, and then heads off back to their booth, using the hand in Noel’s pocket to steer him in the same direction. Noel barely has enough time to grab his pint off the bar or to drink in the bewildered look on the barman’s face, and swears loudly as Liam herds him over to the booth and his beer slops onto his hand. 

“Are you fucking mental?” he says, staring down at Liam when Liam finally lets him go and slides into the booth like nothing’s happened. 

“What?” 

“What?  _ What? _ What the fuck do you mean, ‘what’?” Noel demands. Liam shrugs, and takes a swig from his drink, like he hasn’t just told a random stranger that Noel is taken, and by his brother. 

“What?” Liam says again. “‘S not like he’s ever gonna see us again.” Noel can’t help the way his mouth falls open at that. Liam is, and it cannot be stressed enough,  _ fucking unbelievable. _

“You’re fucking  _ crazy, _ ” Noel hisses, and looks over at the barman, who’s moved on to serving someone else, like the whole exchange hadn’t happened. Liam grins at him, like it’s a compliment. 

“For you,” he says, and Noel rolls his eyes, glancing back over at the barman again. He’s still not looking in their direction, but the longer they spend here, the more likely that he’ll remember their faces, so Noel grabs Liam’s wrist abruptly, forces him to his feet, and pulls him towards the door. 

“What the fuck?” Liam says, trying to pull himself out of Noel’s grasp and get back to his drink. “At least let me finish my pint, you dick.” 

“No,” Noel grits out, pushing through what looks like a hen do to a chorus of angry French words and heading out of the bar. T he cool night air feels like a fucking wave of relief to Noel, and he drags Liam halfway down the ginnel next to the pub before he lets go of his wrist. Liam pulls it away, rubbing at it, and leans back against the wall. 

“What’re we here for?” he asks, eyes gleaming in the dim light of the streetlights on the road. “Want me to suck you off?” Noel stares at him. 

“D’you get off on being fucking insufferable, or something?” is the only thing he can say that gets anywhere close to an approximation of the thoughts tripping over one another in their haste to get his attention, and Liam grins. 

“Maybe,” he says, and reaches out for Noel’s hand, grabs him by the wrist and pulls it towards him, bringing Noel’s hand to his crotch before Noel has the time to think to pull it away. It’s inelegant, Noel’s palm not quite flat nor cupped enough, but it’s sufficient for what Liam wanted; for Noel to feel that he’s hard. 

“Are you fucking serious?” Noel demands hotly, and jerks his hand away. Liam just shrugs, leaning back against the wall, and replaces Noel’s hand with his own, pressing the heel of his hand down on his cock and tipping his head back. “Jesus, Liam. Would it fucking kill you to have a shred of decency?” Liam tilts his head forwards again, grinning wickedly at Noel. 

“Might do,” he says, and Noel can’t help but let his eyes flicker to Liam’s hand working over himself in the dark. “Haven’t tried it, just in case.” 

“Go on, then, fucking wank in a ginnel for all I care,” Noel says, and manages to make it convincingly derisive, even though his eyes are flitting between Liam’s hand and his face. 

“Alright,” Liam says, and lifts the front of his shirt up, one hand already on the button of his jeans. Noel stares at him, allows himself one final glance downwards as Liam unzips his jeans, and then shakes his head. 

“I’m going back to the hotel,” he says, and steps away, flexing his fingers at his sides to try and stop them from twitching with the urge to reach over and curl his fingers around the base of Liam’s dick. “Feel free to join when you’ve stopped being such a prick.” With that, he turns on his heel and heads back out of the ginnel, making it about halfway down the street before Liam jogs up and falls into step with him. 

They both know what this means, so neither of them speak, not daring to break the tentative truce they’ve got going as they follow Noel’s little pocket map back to the hotel. Noel smiles tightly at the receptionist as they walk in, drums his fingers on his thighs as they’re waiting for the lift, and then stands in the opposite corner of the lift to Liam, not trusting the kid to be within two metres of him. Liam, though, is uncharacteristically patient, just stares up at the bright lights in the ceiling as they wait for the lift to trundle up the three storeys of the building to get to their room. 

Noel’s the one with both keys, because Liam can’t be trusted to even remember what city they’re in, let alone what hotel, what room, and where the key is, so he unlocks the door, pushes it open for Liam to step inside, follows him in and then closes it behind him. He locks it again, slowly, deliberately, almost hearing the buzz of anticipation from Liam, and then puts the key on the bedside table and turns to face him. 

His eyes are dark, lidded, and he’s got his bottom lip between his teeth, and it goes straight to Noel’s dick, the way he looks so wanton and ready when Noel’s not done so much as kiss him. He raises an eyebrow, but it doesn’t even earn him a scowl from Liam - Jesus, the kid’s far gone already - and takes a step towards him. Liam watches him, doesn’t move an inch, eyes following Noel hungrily, already teetering on the brink of desperation from the fact Noel’s not touched him yet, and it makes Noel slightly giddy, power trip making blood rush to his head and his cock. 

Noel takes another step forwards, close enough that he’s in Liam’s space now, and reaches out to bring a thumb up to Liam’s lips. Liam lets him, doesn’t say anything as Noel runs the pad of his thumb across Liam’s lips, first his top lip, then his bottom, feeling the soft skin as they part under his touch. Liam’s breath is hot on his hand, coming out a little shaky already, and Noel can’t help the way his lips twitch in an almost-smirk at that, at how fucking needy Liam is. 

“Want something?” he asks, can’t help himself, and Liam closes his lips again, catching the tip of Noel’s thumb in his mouth, and swallows. He’s past the point of being able to come up with a good retort - _ yeah, a new brother, _ or something of the sort - which makes something overwhelming shoot through Noel, the fact that he’s got Liam wrapped around his finger and under his thumb and probably also in the palm of his hand without doing anything. 

He decides not to torture the both of them, though - at least not  _ too  _ much - and pulls his thumb out of where it’s settled between Liam’s lips. Liam lets it go easily, mouth falling open again, and Noel brings his middle and ring fingers around and rests them on the curve of Liam’s bottom lip. Liam blinks at Noel for a moment, like he’s making sure he’s got Noel’s attention, and then slowly, agonisingly slowly, uses his tongue to pull them into his mouth, wrapping his lips around them and sucking gently. Jesus, Noel always forgets the sheer fucking  _ heat _ of Liam, like a million suns condensed into one clever, pretty, irritating little bastard, and he feels his own lips part as Liam’s tongue works around his fingers, slick and hot and God, so fucking good. 

His index finger finds its way in without him even realising as Liam gets greedy, sucking harder and curling his tongue around the pads of Noel’s fingers with more meaning, pushing closer to try and get his fingers as far down Liam’s throat as possible. Fucking show-off, Noel thinks, as Liam looks up at him again with blown pupils and a gaze that says  _ am I good? Am I good for you? _

Noel yanks his fingers out of Liam’s mouth a little inelegantly and tangles his hand in Liam’s hair instead, just holding it there for a moment. Liam doesn’t move, doesn’t try and pull away from Noel’s rough grip nor get any closer, giving himself over to Noel completely. 

“Why can’t you be this good for me all the time, kid?” Noel says softly, and Liam smiles, a faraway look in his eyes. 

“Can I?” he says, and his voice is rough, low, desperate. 

“Can you what?” Noel wants him to use his words. 

“Please.” 

“I don’t know what you want, Liam.” Liam looks at him again, a little beseechingly. 

“Let me suck you off.” Noel inhales sharply, and nods, using the hand he’s got in Liam’s hair to push him down to his knees. Liam goes willingly, drops down and brings his hands up to Noel’s hips, thumbs stroking over the bone for a moment before moving to the zip. Noel takes the time to take his coat off, almost clipping Liam in the face with it as he struggles to get it off while Liam’s pulling his jeans and boxers down, hissing a little as his cock hits the cool air of the room. It doesn’t matter, though, because Liam’s got his tongue on it immediately, one hand wrapped around the base and one hand on Noel’s arse, pushing him closer as Liam takes just the head in his mouth, tongue swirling around it, making sure his saliva is mingling with the pre-come to make it as wet as possible. Noel can’t help but let out a small sigh, eyes fluttering shut as Liam flattens his tongue against the bottom of the head of his cock and then flicks it into his slit quickly, slowly adding inch after inch into his fucking perfect mouth and making sure it’s all slick and wet until his lips are touching his fingers. He pulls off, then, but keeps his hand on Noel and starts stroking him slowly, blinking up at him. Noel looks down, knows he must look fucking terrible from this angle but still sees Liam looking at him like he’s the most beautiful thing Liam’s ever seen, and it makes his cock twitch in Liam’s hand, which makes Liam smile. 

“D’you want to fuck me?” he asks, and Noel scrunches his face up, considering. 

“D’you want me to?” Liam hesitates, and then shakes his head. 

“Just wanna come,” he says. Noel nods. 

“Then no,” he says, and brings one hand up to stroke along Liam’s jaw. “Just be a good boy and suck me off, then, yeah?” Liam nods, leaning into Noel’s touch for a moment, and then turns his head to press a quick kiss to Noel’s thumb. 

“Love you,” he mumbles, and then his lips are back on Noel’s cock, and he’s pressing against Noel’s arse again as he works his way down, pushing him closer and closer until the tip of his nose is pushed against Noel’s pubes. Fucking hell, Noel thinks, inhaling sharply and clenching his fist against the side of Liam’s face as he feels Liam swallowing, feels just how far down Liam’s throat he really is. The kid’s mouth is fucking sinful. 

Noel can’t really bring himself to care about that, though, when Liam breathes out through his nose and pulls back again, using the hand that had been at the base of Noel’s dick to cup Noel’s balls, rolling them around in his hand. Noel can’t help the way he groans at that, at the way Liam’s hollowing his cheeks around his cock and sucking gently while his tongue works around it, slipping over and under, tensed just right so it’s not too soft and not too hard. God, Liam was fucking made to suck dick, Noel thinks, bringing his other hand up to join the one already in Liam’s hair. Or, at least, he was made to suck Noel’s dick. Noel doesn’t want to think about this mouth belonging to anyone else. 

Liam takes Noel’s hands in his hair as encouragement and sucks a little harder, takes Noel to the back of his throat and swallows around him again, and Noel exhales shakily, tips his head back and lets himself get lost in the feeling of Liam’s lips stretched around his dick, his tongue working cleverly over the ridge of the head, his teeth grazing just slightly once in a while in that almost-painful way that he knows Noel loves. 

“Jesus,” Noel says, opening his eyes and looking down when Liam chokes a little. He brings one hand down to Liam’s jaw again, thumb stroking across it gently. “Don’t hurt yourself.” Liam blinks up at him, and pulls off, wiping at his lips and shaking his head. 

“Not hurting myself,” he says, and his voice is a little hoarse and Noel’s cock jumps at the fact it’s  _ him _ that’s done that,  _ his _ dick down Liam’s throat that’s given his voice that rough edge. “Want you to fuck my mouth.” 

“You sure?” Liam nods, and Noel looks down at him, watches him blink up through his thick, dark lashes. “God, you’re so good, Liam, you know that?” Liam smiles, bright and serene, like he was told that because he got a good mark on his exam, not because he’s so good at sucking his brother off. 

“Yeah?” he says, and Noel nods, thumb still stroking over Liam’s jaw. 

“So good,” he tells Liam, whose smile widens. “Drive me fucking crazy, you.” 

“Tell me,” Liam demands, and takes Noel back in his mouth again, making him groan and clench his fist in Liam’s hair as he tries not to tip his head back in pleasure again, wanting to savour the view in front of him. 

“No one feels as good as you,” Noel says, pausing to moan when Liam takes him all the way down his throat again, tightening his hands on Liam’s hair and pulling him back, then pushing him down again. Liam goes, pliant under Noel’s touch, and it drags Noel closer to the edge, that feeling of sheer, unbridled power and control. “ _ Jesus,  _ Liam. Want you all the fucking time, y’know that? Don’t go a fucking minute of the day without thinking about you.  _ Shit. _ ” He breaks off to gasp as he forces Liam back down on his cock and Liam moans around it, eyes fluttering shut like  _ he’s _ the one getting sucked off. “Drive me round the fucking bend, you, with your fucking lip. Makes me want to fill your fucking mouth, shut you up.” Liam’s eyes open again, and he looks up at Noel, the heat of gaze clearly saying  _ I want you to.  _ Noel can’t take it much longer, not with the way Liam’s looking at him as Noel uses his mouth, the way he just takes it when Noel pushes him further and further down on his cock, pulls him back just to look at him and then forces him back down. 

“‘M close,” he says, although Liam can probably tell that himself with the way Noel’s thrusting forwards a little desperately, trying to chase the heat of Liam’s mouth when he pulls him back by his hair. Liam just hollows his cheeks a little more, sucks a little harder, curls his tongue around the head of Noel’s cock, swirling it around once, twice more, and then Noel’s gasping, forcing Liam all the way back down again as he comes down his throat. Liam just keeps sucking, swallows around Noel, spit dripping from the side of his mouth, and Noel sees fucking stars when Liam’s eyes flick up to him again, dark and blue and hungry, and he fucks into Liam’s mouth as he watches his little brother swallow every fucking drop of his come. 

“Shit,” he says, a little breathlessly, and loosens his hold on Liam’s hair, pulls himself back gently. Liam lets him go, rocks back on his heels as Noel’s softening cock slips out of his mouth, wipes at his lips with the back of his hand, then his eyes, then coughs and winces. 

“Did you mean that?” he asks, wiping his hand on his jeans. 

“Don’t do that,” Noel says sharply, knowing full well that Liam’s only brought the one pair of jeans. Liam looks down at his hand, and shrugs. 

“Did you?” he presses. 

“Mean what?”

“What you said.” Noel can’t really remember what he said, can’t really be held responsible for what comes out of his mouth when he’s enveloped in the wet heat of his little brother’s mouth. 

“What bit?” 

“‘Bout how you don’t go a minute of the day without thinking about me. And that you want me all the time.” Noel looks down at him, still blinking up at Noel with spit-slick lips and pink cheeks, and can’t help bringing his hand up to cup Liam’s jaw. 

“Yeah,” he says softly, and Liam smiles like Noel’s just told him he can have the fucking world, and the sun and the moon and the stars too, if he feels like it. Noel smiles back, feeling his stomach flip as Liam nuzzles into Noel’s touch, and then drops his hand to his side to pull his boxers and jeans back up, because he doesn’t want to stand in the middle of the room with his cock out. Liam gets to his feet as he does, coughing again, and flexes his jaw, wincing and bringing a hand up to cradle it. 

“What d’you want?” Noel says, as he’s zipping his jeans back up. 

“Just want to fucking come,” Liam says, voice still a little raw. 

“Want me to go down on you?” Liam shakes his head. 

“Takes too long,” he says. “You’re too much of a tease.” Noel rolls his eyes. 

“I can do it quick,” he says, but Liam’s shaking his head again, heading for the bed, which has been freshly made up in their absence. Noel wonders whether the staff will find the lube stains, whether they’ll put two and two together about the strangely similar-looking boys in room 304. 

“Just touch me,” Liam says, wriggling to get out of his jeans. Noel clambers on the bed next to him, rolling on his side to watch as Liam gets his boxers down too and gets his cock in his hand. 

“You sure?” Noel says, because a handjob feels like a waste of their time here, something they can do in quick, stolen moments at home between Liam coming home from work and their mam having tea ready for them. 

“Yes, fucking hell, just fucking touch me,” Liam grumbles, reaching over for Noel’s hand and putting it on his dick ungracefully. Noel rolls his eyes but curls his fingers around Liam’s cock, stroking up to the head and coating his palm in the pre-come that looks like it’s been leaking for a good ten minutes at least, then bringing it all the way down again. 

“Kiss me,” Liam demands, and for a brief moment Noel considers getting shirty with him about it, but one glance at Liam’s full, parted lips reminds him what Liam’s just given him, so he just leans over and kisses Liam, using his tongue to coax Liam’s lips fully open. Liam gives easily, gasping into Noel’s mouth when he tightens his grip and twists a little, making Liam buck up into his fist. He’s already close, Noel can tell, probably won’t need more than a few minutes, so Noel kisses him deeper, slower, makes it fucking filthy, makes Liam whimper and mewl and tremble underneath him. It’s too much for him; he breaks away after a while, panting, rests his forehead against Noel’s and looks him in the eye, pupils so wide Noel would’ve thought he was off his head on something or other. 

“Talk to me,” he says breathlessly, and Noel rolls his eyes. 

“A minute ago you wanted me to kiss you,” he says, and trails his fingers over the head of Liam’s dick, making him swallow and let out a kind of choked whine. “Now you want me to talk. Make your fucking mind up.”

“Prick,” Liam manages, and Noel grins, gathers more of Liam’s pre-come and tightens his grip a little further, applying just the pressure he knows Liam likes. Liam whimpers again, throws his head back, and Noel can’t help leaning in and nipping at the pale skin there, making Liam thrust up into Noel’s fist again. 

“God, fucking look at you,” Noel mumbles into Liam’s throat, pressing a few soft kisses there before pulling back, looking down at his fingers wrapped around his little brother’s dick. Christ, it makes him glad his refractory period isn’t as short as it once was, because it sends something hot coursing through his veins, makes him pick up the pace as he looks back at Liam’s face. His eyes are hooded, lips parted, cheeks red as he gasps in his breaths, and he looks fucking  _ unreal. _ “So fucking pretty, Liam, y’know that? Can’t fucking get enough of you.” 

“Close,” Liam manages, and Noel nods, presses another open-mouthed kiss to Liam’s neck and then pulls away and moves down his body, holding his gaze as he goes. He watches Liam’s eyebrows twitch in confusion, but he’s too far gone to care all too much until Noel gets to his dick, hovering just over where his hand is still moving hard and fast over Liam. 

“This’ll be easier if you kneel,” he tells Liam, and Liam’s cock jerks hard in his hand, flushed and leaking. Noel lets go, doesn’t want to ruin Liam’s orgasm by ripping it from him, and Liam stares at him for a moment, chest heaving. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, and then he scrambles to his knees, landing in front of Noel and kneeling up so his cock is level with Noel’s face. Noel doesn’t do this, ever, never lets Liam come on his face, hates the way it feels on his skin and in his hair and lashes. 

“C’mon,” Noel says, and gets his hand back on Liam, trying to keep up the same rhythm he had before despite the awkward angle. He can feel how hard Liam is in his hand, can feel it’s not going to be much longer, so he grits his teeth and tries to ignore the pain in his wrist, and it’s only about fifteen more seconds before Liam’s breathing starts to quicken like it does when he’s building up to an orgasm. 

“I’m gonna-” he manages, giving Noel just enough time to close his eyes, and then he’s coming, shooting warm ropes of come over Noel’s face, landing on his cheeks and jaw and eyes. Noel coaxes Liam through it, doesn’t loosen his grip until he hears Liam exhale heavily and shakily, and then he lets go, opening his eyes just in time to see Liam slumping back onto the bed. 

“Jesus,” Liam whispers, taking in the sight of Noel, covered in his come, and Noel brings his tongue out almost unthinkingly, licking off the come around his lips. “Shit, Noel.” He looks so fucked-out, chest rising and falling rapidly, saliva and come and God knows what else staining his shirt, sweat curling the hair around his forehead. 

“Good?” Noel asks, bringing his fingers up to his face and wiping as much come off as he can get. Liam eyes him hungrily, like he’s not just had a fucking orgasm, and nods. 

“Shit,” he breathes, when Noel licks the rest of the come off his fingers, eyes wide, and Noel just shrugs - where the fuck else is he supposed to put it, on the bed they’re about to sleep on? “That’s so hot, Noel.” Noel raises an eyebrow. 

“I know,” he says. Why the fuck does Liam think Noel wants to come on his face so often, mark up those pretty lips and lashes as his? 

“You should let me do that more often,” Liam says, leaning back against the pillows, and Noel huffs out a laugh, clapping a hand against Liam’s bare shin. 

"You should earn it more often," he says, grimacing as he starts to feel the remnants of come already drying on his face. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

“I am clean,” Liam protests, looking down at himself. 

“Are you fuck,” Noel says, and nudges at his calf. “Get in the shower.” Liam groans, long and drawn out, and throws an arm over his eyes. 

“You’re the one with come on your face,” he mumbles. 

“And you’re the one who put it there, so the least you can do for me is fucking shower so I don’t have to sleep next to you stinking of sweat,” Noel says, and Liam raises the arm off his eyes to glare at Noel. 

“Fine,” he says. “But you’re showering too.” Noel rolls his eyes. 

“No, reckoned I’d just head to bed with your dried come on my face,” he says, and Liam glares at him. 

“Piss off,” he grumbles, and Noel huffs out a laugh, and shoves at his shin again. 

“C’mon,” he says, getting to his feet, and Liam groans again, loud and melodramatic, but heaves himself off the bed, standing up a little unsteadily and stretching. 

“You look a fucking sight,” Noel remarks, because Liam looks absolutely ridiculous with his flaccid cock out and his long, stained blue shirt on. 

“Get to fuck,” Liam tells him primly, and heads for the bathroom. Noel just laughs, hopes Liam doesn’t hear the fondness in it, and follows in his wake. 

“I’m not having the shower on anything higher than six,” he says, because Liam had tried to turn it all the way up to ten this morning and nigh on melted Noel’s skin off. 

“Well, I’m not having it any lower than eight,” Liam says, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it aside. Noel stops behind him, leaning against the sink, and Liam turns to him, holding his gaze, blue on blue.

"I just let you come on my face."

"Well, I just let you come down my throat." 

There's a pause.

“Seven?” 

“Seven.”

\-------

Liam’s surprisingly docile after the shower, gets into bed without too much chivvying from Noel and only tries to watch French TV for about ten minutes before giving up and rolling over to snuggle into Noel’s side. Noel, who’s been reading a little more of his book, looks down in surprise, and lifts an arm for Liam to get under. Liam does, nuzzles into Noel’s chest and presses small kisses to the skin there, making Noel sigh and put his book to one side, because he knows he’s not going to get any more reading done with Liam like this. 

“You tired?” he asks, and Liam shakes his head as he yawns. Noel snorts, and Liam glares up at him. 

“C’mon, then,” Noel says, and shuffles down so his head is lying on the pillow. Liam lifts his head off Noel’s chest to let him move down, and then puts it straight back on and wraps an arm around his stomach, making a noise of contentment at how much of Noel he’s got in his grasp. Noel brings his left hand up to play with Liam’s hair, fingernails scraping across Liam’s scalp in the places he knows Liam likes, the places he used to make Noel brush twice when he was a kid. 

“Turn the light off,” Liam says, and Noel sighs but reaches over, hand fumbling along the wall until he finds the light switch. Liam wriggles closer as they’re plunged into darkness, slinging a leg over Noel’s and hitting him in the dick with his knee, making Noel squawk and jerk away. 

“Ow, you prick,” he says, lifting a thigh to shove Liam’s leg off him. “Move your fucking leg.” 

“Whoops,” Liam says carelessly, but he moves his leg down a little, slotting it in between Noel’s. 

“Dick,” Noel grumbles, but his arm around Liam tightens, and Liam sighs into Noel’s chest. “Go to sleep.” 

“Shut the fuck up, then.” Noel rolls his eyes and tuts, but acquiesces, closing his own eyes and settling in to try and sleep. 

He’s tired from the day, and he tries to feel his way into it, tries to let the exhaustion set into his bones. He’s just starting to drift off, in that semi-awake, semi-asleep state that feels all warm and cosy, when Liam shuffles against him, noses into his chest, and speaks. 

“Hey,” he says, an edge of sleepiness to his voice. “Are you awake?” 

“Mm,” Noel mumbles, pulling him in tighter. “Am now, you twat.” Liam just hums, and Noel opens his eyes a crack, blinking into the darkness of the room. “What?” 

“Nowt,” Liam says. Fucking unbelievable. 

“Just wanted to wake me up, then?” 

“No, I-” Liam cuts himself off, with a small shake of his head. 

“What?” 

“Just thinking.” Noel hears it there, the slightly hesitant edge to his voice, and he stops the sarcastic retort as it’s about to fly off his tongue. 

“What about?” 

“Nowt.” 

“C’mon, Liam, don’t be a cunt,” Noel sighs. “Sooner you get it out sooner I can sleep.” There’s a moment of silence, and then Liam exhales heavily. 

“‘S nice, this,” he says, a little sadly. Noel's heart twists in his chest. 

“Oh, Liam,” he says, in a voice he hasn’t used since Liam was about five, and presses a kiss to the top of his head, letting his lips linger there as he closes his eyes and inhales the scent of Liam’s shampoo. 

“I just-” Liam stops himself, and sighs again. “Y’know.” Noel does know. In a way, he thinks, it would have been easier if they hadn’t gone to Paris. It might have been better if they hadn’t known that it could be like this, that they could hold hands in public without a second glance, that they could kiss at the top of the Eiffel Tower, that they could fuck in hotel rooms and not have to worry about any consequences. It might have been better if they hadn’t known what they were missing. 

“I know,” Noel says into Liam’s hair, and Liam swallows and tightens his arm around Noel’s stomach. Noel, one hand still in Liam’s hair, lets a few tendrils slip through his fingers as they lie in silence for a while, fingernails scratching lightly at Liam’s scalp. After a few minutes have passed, Liam shifts, and as he’s moving Noel feels something wet against his stomach. 

“Hey,” he says, lifting his head and frowning down at Liam. Or, at least, at the vaguely boy-shaped shadow that looks like Liam. “Are you crying?” 

“What? No,” Liam says defensively, but his voice comes out thick, and he turns his head away from Noel and swipes at his eyes with his hands, and Noel’s heart breaks a little. It’s moments like this that he sees just how young Liam really is, just shy of twenty, still bright-eyed and far too hopeful about the world and the future. 

“C’mere,” he sighs, and wraps his other arm around Liam too, pulling him up so he’s lying mostly on top of Noel with his face pressed into Noel’s neck. Liam goes willingly, shuffles up so he’s as entwined with Noel as he can be, every possible inch of their bodies pressed together. Noel keeps his hand in Liam’s hair, though, stroking through it with more tenderness than he’d thought himself capable of, given courage by the darkness. 

“I love you,” Liam says, and it comes out a little choked. 

“Oh, kid,” Noel says, and presses a kiss to Liam’s temple. “I know you do.” 

“D’you love me?” Noel pulls back and looks at him. 

“What?” he asks, a little surprised. They’re close enough now that, even in the darkness, Noel can see Liam blinking, the tears in his eyes reflected in the moonlight shimmering through the thin curtains. 

“Do you?” 

“Are you seriously asking me that?” 

“Do you?” Liam asks again. 

“What, taking you to fucking Paris isn’t enough?” Noel says. “Holding your hand out there, kissing you on the Eiffel Tower - letting you have a  _ picture _ of us kissing - none of that’s enough for you?” Liam’s quiet for a moment. 

“You never say it,” he says after a minute. 

“And you never show it,” Noel counters, because it’s true; Liam’s all pen, no sword. “Christ, kid, the things I do for you.” Liam’s silent again, and then exhales. 

“I didn’t think,” he admits. 

“You never do.”

“No, I mean-” he cuts himself off, pauses, and then starts again. “I mean, y’know. How you doing that is telling me you love me.” 

“Yeah, well,” Noel says, because he has nothing better to say. 

“So you do love me?” Noel rolls his eyes and makes a noise of exasperation. 

“ _ Yes, _ you dick.”

“Say it.” 

“Jesus, is that not enough?” Noel says. 

“Please, Noely.” Noel’s not sure whether it’s the nickname or the pleading tone that gets to him, but he sighs, all long-suffering, tightens his arm around Liam, and says: “William John Paul Gallagher, I hereby declare-“ Liam slaps him lightly on the chest.

“Say it proper, like.” 

“You’re fucking insufferable, you know that?” Noel tells him, and he feels Liam’s lips curve up in a smile against his neck. It’s better than the tears, though, so Noel inhales deeply, exhales heavily, and says, in the sincerest tone he can muster: “I love you.” He feels Liam’s smile widen, and his arm tighten around Noel, and he noses into Noel’s throat, pressing soft kisses to the skin there. It makes Noel shiver, makes his dick perk up with tired interest, and he pulls away from Liam, not wanting to go down that road. 

“Happy?” he asks. “Can I fucking sleep now?” 

“Mm,” Liam says, and shuffles up so he’s lying on Noel’s shoulder. “Night, Noel.” 

“Night.” 

(He dreams of big, white buildings and broad avenues that look nothing like home, and a warm hand in his that feels familiar and similar to his own.)


End file.
